RALPH  CONNOR 


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THE  FOREIGNER 


RALPH  CONNOR 


By  RALPH    CONNOR 
THE  DAWN  BY  GALILEE 

A  STORY  OF  THE  CHRIST 


BLACK  ROCK.    A  Tale  of  the  Selkirks 
THE  SKY  PILOT.    A  Tale  of  the  FoothUls 
THE  MAN  FROM  GLENGARRY.     A  Tale  of 

the  Ottawa 
GLENGARRY    SCHOOL    DAYS.     A  Story  of 

early  days  in  the  Indian  Lands 
THE   PROSPECTOR.     A   Tale   of   the  Crow's 

Nest  Pass 
THE   DOCTOR.     A  Tale  of  the  Rockies 
THE  LIFE  OF  JAMES    ROBERTSON 

BOOKLETS 

THE  ANGEL  AND  THE  STAR 
BEYOND  THE  MARSHES 
BREAKING  THE  RECORD 
THE  SWAN  CREEK  BLIZZARD 


THE  FOREIGNER 

A  Tale  of  Saskatchewan 

BY 

RALPH  CONNOR 

AUTHOR  OF  THE  SKY  PILOT,  THE  DOCTOR, 
THE  MAN  FROM  GLENGARRY,  ETC. 


NEW     YORK 

GROSSET  &    DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1909 
Bv  Georqe  H.  Doean  Company 


PREFACE 

IN  Western  Canada  there  is  to  be  seen  to-day  that 
most  fascinating  of  all  human  phenomena,  the 
making  of  a  nation.  Out  of  breeds  diverse  in  tradi- 
tions, in  ideals,  in  speech,  and  in  manner  of  life, 
Saxon  and  Slav,  Teuton,  Celt  and  Gaul,  one  people 
is  being  made.  The  blood  strains  of  great  races  will 
mingle  in  the  blood  of  a  race  greater  than  the  great- 
est of  them  all. 

It  would  be  our  wisdom  to  grip  these  peoples  to  us 
with  living  hooks  of  justice  and  charity  till  all  lines 
of  national  cleavage  disappear,  and  in  the  Entity  of 
our  Canadian  national  life,  and  in  the  Unity  of  our 
world-wide  Empire,  we  fuse  into  a  people  whose 
strength  will  endure  the  slow  shock  of  time  for  the 
honour  of  our  name,  for  the  good  of  mankind,  and 
for  the  glory  of  Almighty  God. 

C.  W.  G. 

Winnipeg,  Canajja,  1909. 


CONTENTS 

CaxpnsB  Pagb 

I     The  City  on  the  Plain 11 

II  Where  East  meets  West     ....  19 

III     The  Marriage  of  Anka 26 

IV     The  Unbidden  Guest 36 

V     The  Patriot's  Heart 60 

VI  The  Grip  of  British  Law    ....  81 

VII     Condemned       106 

VIII  The  Price  of  Vengeance     ....  134? 

IX     Brother  and  Sister 156 

X  Jack  French  of  the  Night  Hawk 

Ranch      188 

XI     The  Edmonton  Trail 200 

XII     The  Making  of  a  Man 221 

XIII  Brown       243 

XIV  The  Break 264 

XV  The  Maiden  of  the  Brown  Hair   .  285 

XVI  How  Kalman  found  His  Mine  .    .    .  305 

XVII     The  Fight  for  the  Mine 329 

XVIII  For  Freedom  and  for.  Love  ....  353 

XIX     My  Foreigner 871 


THE   FOREIGNER 


THE  FOREIGNER 


CHAPTER    I 


THE    CITY    ON    THE    PLAIN 


NOT  far  from  the  centre  of  the  American  Con- 
tinent, midway  between  the  oceans  east  and 
west,  midway  between  the  Gulf  and  the  Arctic  Sea, 
on  the  rim  of  a  plain,  snow  swept  in  winter,  flower 
decked  in  summer,  but,  whether  in  winter  or  in  sum- 
mer, beautiful  in  its  sunlit  glory,  stands  Winnipeg, 
the  cosmopolitan  capital  of  the  last  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  Empires,  —  Winnipeg,  City  of  the  Plain, 
which  from  the  eyes  of  the  world  cannot  be  hid. 
Miles  away,  secure  in  her  sea-girt  isle,  is  old  London, 
port  of  all  seas ;  miles  away,  breasting  the  beat  of 
the  Atlantic,  sits  New  York,  capital  of  the  New 
World,  and  mart  of  the  world.  Old  and  New;  far 
away  to  the  west  lie  the  mighty  cities  of  the  Orient, 
Peking  and  Hong  Kong,  Tokio  and  Yokohama ;  and 
fair  across  the  highway  of  the  world's  commerce  sits 
Winnipeg,  Empress  of  the  Prairies.  Her  Trans- 
Continental  railways  thrust  themselves  in  every  direc- 
tion, —  south  into  the  American  Republic,  east  to  the 
ports  of  the  Atlantic,  west  to  the  Pacific,  and  north 
to  the  Great  Inland  Sea. 


12  THE   FOREIGNER 

To  her  gates  and  to  her  deep-soiled  tributary 
prairies  she  draws  from  all  lands  peoples  of  all  tribes 
and  tongues,  smitten  with  two  great  race  passions, 
the  lust  for  liberty,  and  the  lust  for  land. 

By  hundreds  and  tens  of  hundreds  they  stream  in 
and  through  this  hospitable  city,  Saxon  and  Celt 
and  Slav,  each  eager  on  his  own  quest,  each  paying 
his  toll  to  the  new  land  as  he  comes  and  goes,  for 
good  or  for  ill,  but  whether  more  for  good  than  for 
ill  only  God  knows. 

A  hundred  years  ago,  where  now  stands  the  throng- 
ing city,  stood  the  lonely  trading-post  of  The  Hon- 
ourable, The  Hudson's  Bay  Company.  To  this  post 
in  their  birch  bark  canoes  came  the  half-breed  trapper 
and  the  Indian  hunter,  with  their  priceless  bales  of 
furs  to  be  bartered  for  blankets  and  beads,  for  pem- 
mican  and  bacon,  for  powder  and  ball,  and  for  the 
thousand  and  one  articles  of  commerce  that  piled 
the  store  shelves  from  cellar  to  roof. 

Fifty  years  ago,  about  the  lonely  post  a  little 
settlement  had  gathered — -a  band  of  sturdy  Scots. 
Those  dour  and  doughty  pioneers  of  peoples  had 
planted  on  the  Red  River  their  homes  upon  their 
little  "  strip  "  farms  —  a  rampart  of  civilization 
against  the  wide,  wild  prairie,  the  home  of  the  buf- 
falo, and  camp  ground  of  the  hunters  of  the  plain. 

Twenty-five  years  ago,  in  the  early  eighties,  a 
little  city  had  fairly  dug  its  roots  into  the  black 
soil,  refusing  to  be  swept  away  by  that  cyclone  of 


THE    CITY   ON   THE   PLAIN  13 

financial  frenzy  known  over  the  Continent  as  the 
"  boom  of  '81,"  and  holding  on  with  abundant 
courage  and  invincible  hope,  had  gathered  to  itself 
what  of  strength  it  could,  until  by  1884  it  had  come 
to  assume  an  appearance  of  enduring  solidity. 
Hitherto  accessible  from  the  world  by  the  river  and 
the  railroad  from  the  south,  in  this  year  the  city 
began  t&  cast  eager  eyes  eastward,  and  to  listen  for 
the  rumble  of  the  first  trans-continental  train,  which 
was  to  bind  the  Provinces  of  Canada  into  a  Dominion, 
and  make  Winnipeg  into  one  of  the  cities  of  the 
world.  Trade  by  the  river  died,  but  meantime  the 
railway  from  the  south  kept  pouring  in  a  steady 
stream  of  immigration,  which  distributed  itself  ac- 
cording to  its  character  and  in  obedience  to  the  laws 
of  affinity,  the  French  Canadian  finding  a  congenial 
home  across  the  Red  River  in  old  St.  Boniface,  while 
his  English-speaking  fellow-citizen,  careless  of  the 
limits  of  nationality,  ranged  whither  his  fancy  called 
him.  With  these,  at  first  in  small  and  then  in  larger 
groups,  from  Central  and  South  Eastern  Europe, 
came  people  strange  in  costume  and  in  speech ;  and 
holding  close  by  one  another  as  if  in  terror  of  the 
perils  and  the  loneliness  of  the  unknown  land,  they 
segregated  into  colonies  tight  knit  by  ties  of  blood 
and  common  tongue. 

Already,  close  to  the  railway  tracks  and  in  the 
more  unfashionable  northern  section  of  the  little  city, 
a  huddling  cluster  of  little  black  shacks  gave  such 


14  THE   FOREIGNER 

a  colony  shelter.  With  a  sprinkling  of  Germans, 
Italians  and  Swiss,  it  was  almost  solidly  Slav.  Slavs 
of  all  varieties  from  all  provinces  and  speaking 
all  dialects  were  there  to  be  found:  Slavs  from 
Little  Russia  and  from  Great  Russia,  the  alert  Polak, 
the  heavy  Croatian,  the  haughty  Magyar,  and  occa- 
sionally the  stalwart  Dalmatian  from  the  Adriatic, 
in  speech  mostly  Ruthenian,  in  religion  orthodox 
Greek  CathoHc  or  Uniat  and  Roman  Catholic.  By 
their  non-discriminating  Anglo-Saxon  fellow-citizens 
they  are  called  Galicians,  or  by  the  unlearned,  with 
an  echo  of  Paul's  Epistle  in  their  minds,  "  Galatians." 
There  they  pack  together  in  their  little  shacks  of 
boards  and  tar-paper,  with  pent  roofs  of  old  tobacco 
tins  or  of  slabs  or  of  that  same  useful  but  unsightly 
tar-paper,  crowding  each  other  in  close  irregular 
groups  as  if  the  whole  wide  prairie  were  not  there 
inviting  them.  From  the  number  of  their  huts  they 
seem  a  colony  of  no  great  size,  but  the  census  taker, 
counting  ten  or  twenty  to  a  hut,  is  surprised  to  find 
them  run  up  into  hundreds.  During  the  summer 
months  they  are  found  far  away  in  the  colonies 
of  their  kinsfolk,  here  and  there  planted  upon  the 
prairie,  or  out  in  gangs  where  new  lines  of  railway 
are  in  construction,  the  joy  of  the  contractor's 
heart,  glad  to  exchange  their  steady,  uncomplaining 
toil  for  the  uncertain,  spasmodic  labour  of  their 
English-speaking  rivals.  But  winter  finds  them  once 
more  crowding;  back  into  the  little  black  shacks  in 


THE   CITY   ON   THE   PLAIN  15 

the  foreign  quarter  of  the  city,  drawn  thither  by 
their  traditionary  social  instincts,  or  driven  by  eco- 
nomic necessities.  All  they  ask  is  bed  space  on  the 
floor  or,  for  a  higher  price,  on  the  home-made  bunks 
that  line  the  walls,  and  a  woman  to  cook  the  food 
they  bring  to  her ;  or,  failing  such  a  happy  arrange- 
ment, a  stove  on  which  they  may  boil  their  varied 
stews  of  beans  or  barley,  beets  or  rice  or  cabbage, 
with  such  scraps  of  pork  or  beef  from  the  neck  or 
flank  as  they  can  beg  or  buy  at  low  price  from  the 
slaughter  houses,  but  ever  with  the  inevitable  season- 
ing of  garlic,  lacking  which  no  Galician  dish  is  pal- 
atable. Fortunate  indeed  is  the  owner  of  a  shack, 
who,  devoid  of  hygienic  scruples  and  disdainful  of 
city  sanitary  laws,  reaps  a  rich  harvest  from  his 
fellow-countrymen,  who  herd  together  under  his  pent 
roof.  Here  and  there  a  house  surrendered  by  its 
former  Anglo-Saxon  owner  to  the  "  Polak "  inva- 
sion, falls  into  the  hands  of  an  enterprising  for- 
eigner, and  becomes  to  the  happy  possessor  a  veri- 
table gold  mine. 

Such  a  house  had  come  into  the  possession  of 
Paulina  Koval.  Three  years  ago,  with  two  children 
she  had  come  to  the  city,  and  to  tbe  surprise  of  her 
neighbours  who  had  travelled  with  her  from  Hungary, 
had  purchased  this  house,  which  the  owTier  was  only 
too  glad  to  sell.  How  the  slow-witted  Paulina  had 
managed  so  clever  a  transaction  no  one  quite  under- 
stood, but  every  one  knew  that  in  the  deal  Rosen- 


16  THE   FOREIGNER 

blatt,  financial  agent  to  the  foreign  colony,  had  lend 
his  shrewd  assistance.  Rosenblatt  had  known  Paulina 
in  the  home  land,  and  on  her  arrival  in  the  new 
country  had  hastened  to  proffer  his  good  offices, 
arranging  the  purchase  of  her  house  and  guiding 
her,  not  only  in  financial  matters,  but  in  things 
domestic  as  well.  It  was  due  to  Rosenblatt  that  the 
little  cottage  became  the  most  populous  dwelling  in 
the  colony.  It  was  his  genius  that  had  turned  the 
cellar,  with  its  mud  floor,  into  a  dormitory  capable  of 
giving  bed  space  to  twenty  or  twenty-five  Galicians, 
and  still  left  room  for  the  tin  stove  on  which  to 
cook  their  stews.  Upon  his  advice,  too,  the  parti- 
tions by  which  the  cottage  had  been  divided  into 
kitchen,  parlour,  and  bed  rooms,  were  with  one  excep- 
tion removed  as  unnecessary  and  interfering  unduly 
with  the  most  economic  use  of  valuable  floor  space. 
Upon  the  floor  of  the  main  room,  some  sixteen  feet 
by  twelve,  under  Rosenblatt's  manipulation,  twenty 
boarders  regularly  spread  their  blankets,  and  were 
it  not  for  the  space  demanded  by  the  stove  and  the 
door,  whose  presence  he  deeply  regretted,  this  in- 
genious manipulator  could  have  provided  for  some 
fifteen  additional  beds.  Beyond  the  partition,  which 
as  a  concession  to  Rosenblatt's  finer  sensibilities  was 
allowed  to  remain,  was  Paulina's  boudoir,  eight  feet 
by  twelve,  where  she  and  her  two  children  occupied 
a  roomy  bed  in  one  corner.  In  the  original  plan  of 
the  cottage  four  feet  had  been  taken  from  this  boudoii: 


THE   CITY   ON   THE   PLAIN  17 

for  closet  purposes,  which  closet  now  served  as  a 
store  room  for  Paulina's  superfluous  and  altogether 
wonderful  wardrobe. 

After  a  few  weeks'  experiment,  Rosenblatt,  under 
pressure  of  an  exuberant  hospitality,  sought  to  per- 
suade Paulina  that,  at  the  sacrifice  of  some  comfort 
ana  at  the  expense  of  a  certain  degree  of  privacy, 
the  unoccupied  floor  space  of  her  boudoir  might  be 
placed  at  the  disposal  of  a  selected  number  of  her 
countrymen,  who  for  the  additional  comfort  thus 
secured,  this  room  being  less  exposed  to  the  biting 
wind  from  the  door,  would  not  object  to  pay  a  higher 
price.  Against  this  arrangement  poor  Paulina  made 
feeble  protest,  not  so  much  on  her  own  account  as 
for  the  sake  of  the  children. 

"  Children  !  "  cried  Rosenblatt.  "  What  are  they 
to  you?     They  are  not  your  children." 

"  No,  they  are  not  my  children,  but  they  are  my 
man's,  and  I  must  keep  them  for  him.  He  would  not 
like  risen  to  sleep  in  the  same  room  with  us." 

"  What  can  harm  them  here.'*  I  will  come  myself 
and  be  their  protector,"  cried  the  chivalrous  Ro- 
senblatt. "And  see,  here  is  the  very  thing!  We 
will  make  for  them  a  bed  in  this  snug  little  closet. 
It  is  most  fortunate,  and  they  will  be  quite 
comfortable." 

Still  in  PauHna's  slow-moving  mind  lingered  some 
doubt  as  to  the  propriety  of  the  suggested  arrange- 
ment.   "  But  why  should  men  come  in  here.^"    I  do  not 

2 


18  THE    FOREIGNER 

need  the  monej.  Mj  man  \fiU.  send  money  every 
month.'* 

"  All ! "  cried  the  alert  and  startled  Rosenblatt, 
*'  every  month !  Ah !  very  good !  But  this  house, 
you  will  remember,  is  not  all  paid  for,  and  those 
Enghsh  people  are  terrible  with  their  laws.  Oh, 
truly  terrible ! "  continued  the  solicitous  agent. 
"  They  would  turn  you  and  your  children  out  into 
the  snow.  Ah,  what  a  struggle  I  had  only  last 
month  with  them !  " 

The  mere  memory  of  that  experience  sent  a  shud- 
der of  horror  through  Rosenblatt's  substantial  frame, 
so  that  Paulina  hastened  to  surrender,  and  soon 
Rosenblatt  with  three  of  his  patrons,  selected  for 
their  more  gentle  manners  and  for  their  ability  to 
pay,  were  installed  as  night  lodgers  in  the  inner  room 
at  the  rate  of  five  dollars  per  month.  This  rate  he 
considered  as  extremely  reasonable,  considering  that 
those  of  the  outer  room  paid  three  dollars,  while  for 
the  luxury  of  the  cellar  accommodation  two  dollars 
was  the  rate. 


WHERE   EAST   MEETS   WEST  1» 


CHAPTER   n 


WHERE    EAST    MEETS    WEST 


THE  considerate  th.oughtfulness  of  Rosenblatt 
relieved  Paulina  of  the  necessity  of  collecting 
these  monthly  dues,  to  her  great  joy,  for  it  was  far 
beyond  her  mental  capacity  to  compute,  first  in  Gali- 
cian  and  then  in  Canadian  money,  the  amount  that 
each  should  pay ;  and  besides,  as  Rosenblatt  was 
careful  to  point  out,  how  could  she  deal  with  de- 
faulters, who,  after  accumulating"  a  serious  indebted- 
ness, might  roll  up  their  blankets  and  without  a  word 
of  warning  fade  away  into  the  winter  night  ?  Indeed, 
with  all  her  agent's  care,  it  not  unfrequently  hap- 
pened that  a  lodger,  securing  a  job  in  one  of  the 
cordwood  camps,  would  disappear,  leaving  behind 
him  only  his  empty  space  upon  the  floor  and  his  debt 
upon  the  books,  which  Rosenblatt  kept  with  scrupu- 
lous care.  Occasionally  it  happened,  however,  that, 
as  in  all  bookkeeping,  a  mistake  would  creep  in.  This 
was  unfortunately  the  case  with  young  Jacob  Wassyl's 
account,  of  whose  perfidy  Paulina  made  loud  com- 
plaints to  his  friends,  who  straightway  remonstrated 
with  Jacob  upon  his  return  from  the  camp.     It  was 


20  THE    FOREIGNER 

then  that  Jacob's  indignant  protestations  caused 
an  examination  of  Rosenblatt's  books,  whereupon 
that  gentleman  laboured  with  great  diligence  to  make 
abundantly  clear  to  all  how  the  obliteration  of  a 
single  letter  had  led  to  the  mistake.  It  was  a  strik- 
ing testimony  to  his  fine  sense  of  honour  that  Rosen- 
blatt insisted  that  Jacob,  Paulina,  and  indeed  the 
whole  company,  should  make  the  fullest  investigation 
of  his  books  and  satisfy  themselves  of  his  unimpeach- 
able integrity.  In  a  private  interview  with  Paulina, 
however,  his  rage  passed  all  bounds,  and  it  was  only 
Paulina's  tearful  entreaties  that  induced  him  to  con- 
tinue to  act  as  her  agent,  and  not  even  her  tears  had 
moved  him  had  not  Paulina  solemnly  sworn  that  never 
again  v/ould  she  allow  her  blundering  crudity  to 
insert  itself  into  the  delicate  finesse  of  Rosenblatt's 
financial  operations.  Thenceforward  all  went  har- 
moniously enough,  Paulina  toiling  with  unremitting 
diligence  at  her  daily  tasks,  so  that  she  might  make 
the  monthly  payments  upon  her  house,  and  meet  the 
rapacious  demands  of  those  terrible  English  people, 
with  their  taxes  and  interest  and  legal  exactions, 
v/hich  Rosenblatt,  with  meritorious  meekness,  sought 
to  satisfy.  So  engrossed,  indeed,  was  that  excellent 
gentleman  in  this  service  that  he  could  hardly  find 
time  to  give  suitable  over-sight  to  his  own  building 
operations,  in  which,  by  the  erection  of  shack  after 
shack,  he  sought  to  meet  the  ever  growing  demands 
of  the  foreign  colony. 


TVHERE   EAST   MEETS   WEST  21 

Before  a  year  had  gone  it  caused  Rosenblatt  no 
small  annoyance  that  while  he  was  thus  struggling 
to  keep  pace  with  the  demands  upon  his  time  and 
energy,  Paulina,  with  lamentable  lack  of  considera- 
tion, should  find  it  necessary  to  pause  in  her  scrub- 
bing, washing,  and  baking,  long  enough  to  give  birth 
to  a  fine  healthy  bo3^  Paulina's  need  brought  her 
help  and  a  friend  in  the  person  of  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick, 
who  lived  a  few  doors  away  in  the  only  house  that 
had  been  able  to  resist  the  Galician  invasion.  It  had 
not  escaped  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick's  eye  nor  her  kindly 
heart,  as  Paulina  moved  in  and  out  about  her  duties, 
that  she  would  ere  long  pass  into  that  mysterious 
valley  of  life  and  death  where  a  woman  needs  a 
woman's  help;  and  so  when  the  hour  came,  Mrs. 
Fitzpatrick,  with  fine  contempt  of  "  haythen  "  skill 
and  efficiency,  came  upon  the  scene  and  took  com- 
mand. It  took  her  only  a  few  moments  to  clear  from 
the  house  the  men  who  with  stolid  indifference  to  the 
sacred  rights  of  privacy  due  to  the  event  were  loung- 
ing about.  Swinging  the  broom  which  she  had 
brought  with  her,  she  almost  literally  swept  them 
forth,  flinging  their  belongings  out  into  the  snow. 
Not  even  Rosenblatt,  who  lingered  about,  did  she 
suffer  to  remain. 

"  Y're  wife  will  not  be  nadin'  ye,  I  'm  thinkin',  for 
a  while.  Ye  can  just  wait  till  I  can  bring  ye  wurrd 
av  y're  babby,"  she  said,  pushing  him,  not  unkindly, 
from  the  room. 


fie  THE   FOREIGNER 

Rosenblatt,  whose  knowledge  of  English  was  suffi- 
cient to  enable  him  to  catch  her  meaning,  began  a 
vigorous  protest: 

"  Eet  ees  not  my  woman,"  he  exclaimed. 

"  Eat,  is  it ! "  replied  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick,  taking 
him  up  sharply.  "  Lidade  ye  can  eat  where  ye  can 
get  it.  Faith,  it 's  a  man  ye  are,  sure  enough,  that 
can  niver  forget  y're  stomach!  An'  y're  wife  comin' 
till  her  sorrow !  " 

"  Eet  ees  not  my  —  "  stormily  began  Rosenblatt. 

"  Out  wid  ye,"  cried  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick,  impatiently 
waving  her  big  red  hands  before  his  face.  "  Howly 
Mother !  It 's  the  wurrld's  wonder  how  a  dacent 
woman  cud  put  up  wid  ye !  " 

And  leaving  him  in  sputtering  rage,  she  turned  to 
her  duty,  aiding,  with  gentle  touch  and  tender  though 
meaningless  words,  her  sister  woman  through  her 
hour  of  anguish. 

In  three  days  Pauhna  was  again  in  her  place  and 
at  her  work,  and  witliin  a  week  her  household  was 
re-established  in  its  normal  condition.  The  baby, 
rolled  up  in  an  old  quilt  and  laid  upon  her  bed,  re- 
ceived little  attention  except  when  the  pangs  of 
hunger  wrung  lusty  protests  from  his  vigorous  lungs, 
and  had  it  not  been  for  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick's  frequent 
visits,  the  unwelcome  little  human  atom  would  have 
fared  badly  enough.  For  the  first  two  weeks  of  its 
life  the  motherly-hearted  Irish  woman  gave  an  hour 
every  day  to  the  batliing  and  dressing  of  the  bab«. 


WHERE   EAST   MEETS   WEST  23 

while  Irma,  the  Httle  girl  of  Paulina's  household, 
"wratched  in  wide-eyed  wonder  and  delight ;  watched 
to  such  purpose,  indeed,  that  before  the  two  weeks 
had  gone  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick  felt  that  to  the  Httle  girl's 
eager  and  capable  hands  the  baby  might  safely  be 
entrusted. 

"  It 's  the  ould-fashioned  little  thing  she  is,"  she 
confided  to  her  husband,  Timothy.  "  Tin  years,  an' 
she  has  more  sinse  in  the  hair  outside  av  her  head  than 
that  woman  has  in  the  brains  inside  av  hers.  It 's 
aisy  seen  she 's  no  mother  of  hers  —  ye  can  niver 
get  canary  burrds  from  owls'  eggs.  And  the  strength 
of  her,"  she  continued,  to  the  admiring  and  sympa- 
thetic Timothy,  "  wid  her  white  face  and  her  burnin' 
brown  eyes !  " 

And  so  it  came  that  every  day,  no  matter  to  what 
depths  the  thermometer  might  fall,  the  little  white- 
faced,  white-haired  Russian  girl  with  the  "  burnin'  " 
brown  eyes  brought  Paulina's  baby  to  be  inspected 
by  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick's  critical  eye.  Before  a  year  had 
passed  Inna  had  won  an  assured  place  in  the  admira- 
tion and  affection  of  not  only  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick,  but 
of  her  husband,  Timothy,  as  well. 

But  of  Paulina  the  same  could  not  be  said,  for 
with  the  passing  months  she  steadily  descended  in 
the  scale  of  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick's  regard.  Paulina  was 
undoubtedly  slovenly.  Her  attempts  at  housekeeping 
—  if  housekeeping  it  could  be  called  —  were  utterly 
contemptible  in  the  eyes  of  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick.     These 


24  THE    FOREIGNER 

defects,  however,  might  have  been  pardoned,  and 
with  patience  and  perseverance  might  have  been  re- 
moved, but  there  were  conditions  in  Pauhna's  domes- 
tic relations  that  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick  could  not  forgive. 
The  economic  arrangements  which  turned  Paulina's 
room  into  a  public  dormitory  were  abhorrent  to  the 
Irish  woman's  sense  of  decency.  Often  had  she  turned 
the  full  tide  of  her  voluble  invective  upon  Paulina, 
who,  though  conscious  that  all  was  not  well  —  for 
no  one  could  mistake  the  flash  of  Mrs.  Fitzpatri^k's 
eye  nor  the  stridency  of  her  voice  —  received  Mrs. 
Fitzpatrick's  indignant  criticism  with  a  patient  smile. 
Mrs.  Fitzpatrick,  despairing  of  success  in  her  efforts 
with  Pauhna,  called  in  the  aid  of  Anka  Kusmuk,  who, 
as  domestic  in  the  New  West  Hotel  where  Mrs.  Fitz- 
patrick served  as  charwoman  two  days  in  the  week, 
had  become  more  or  less  expert  in  the  colloquial  Eng- 
lish of  her  environment.  Together  they  laboured 
with  Paulina,  but  with  little  effect.  She  was  quite 
unmoved,  because  quite  unconscious,  of  moral  shock. 
It  disturbed  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick  not  a  little  to  dis- 
cover during  the  progress  of  her  missionary  labours 
I  that  even  Anka,  of  whose  goodness  she  was  thor- 
oughly assured,  did  not  appear  to  share  her  horror 
of  Paulina's  moral  condition.  It  was  the  East  meet- 
ing the  West,  the  Slav  facing  the  Anglo-Saxon. 
Between  their  points  of  view  stretched  generations 
of  moral  development.  It  was  not  a  question  of  abso- 
lute moral  character  so  much  as  a  question  of  moral 


WHERE   EAST   MEETS   WEST  25 

standards.  The  vastness  of  this  distinction  in  stand- 
ards was  beginning  to  dawn  upon  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick, 
and  she  was  prepared  to  view  Pauhna's  insensibility 
to  moral  distinctions  in  a  more  lenient  light,  when  a 
new  idea  suddenly  struck  her : 

"  But  y're  man ;  how  does  he  stand  it  ?  Tell  me 
that." 

The  two  Galician  women  gazed  at  each  other  in 
silence.  At  length  Anka  replied  with  manifest 
reluctance : 

"  She  got  no  man  here.     Her  man  in  Russia." 

"What !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick  in  a  terrible 
voice.  "  An'  do  ye  mane  to  say !  An'  that  Rosen- 
blatt—  Is  he  not  her  husband?  Howly  Mother  of 
God,"  she  continued  in  an  awed  tone  of  voice,  "  an' 
Is  this  the  woman  I  've  been  havin'  to  do  wid !  " 

The  wrath,  the  scorn,  the  repulsion  in  her  eyes, 
her  face,  her  whole  attitude,  revealed  to  the  unhappy 
Paulina  what  no  words  could  have  conveyed.  Under 
her  sallow  skin  the  red  blood  of  shame  slowly  mounted- 
At  that  moment  she  saw  herself  and  her  life  as  never 
before.  The  wrathful  scorn  of  this  indignant  woman 
pierced  like  a  lightning  bolt  to  the  depths  of  her 
sluggish  moral  sense  and  awakened  it  to  new  vitality. 
For  a  few  moments  she  stood  silent  and  with  face 
aflame,  and  then,  turning  slowly,  passed  into  her 
house.    It  was  the  beginning  of  Paulina's  redemption. 


fm  THE   FOREIGNER 


CHAPTER    in 

THE    MARRIAGE    OF    ANKA 

THE  withdrawing  of  Mrs.  Fitzpatriek  from 
Paulina's  life  meant  a  serious  diminution  in 
interest  for  the  unhappy  Paulina,  but  with  the  char- 
acteristic uncomplaining  patience  of  her  race  she 
plodded  on  with  the  daily  routine  at  washing,  baking, 
cleaning,  mending,  that  filled  up  her  days.  There 
was  no  break  in  the  unvarying  monotony  of  her  ex- 
istence. She  gave  what  care  she  could  to  the  two 
children  that  had  been  entrusted  to  her  keeping,  and 
to  her  baby.  It  was  well  for  her  that  Irma,  whose 
devotion  to  the  infant  became  an  absorbing  passion, 
developed  a  rare  skill  in  the  care  of  the  child,  and  it 
was  well  for  them  all  that  the  ban  placed  by  Mrs. 
Fitzpatrick  upon  Paulina's  house  was  withdrawn  as 
far  as  Irma  and  the  baby  were  concerned,  for  every 
day  the  little  maid  presented  her  charge  to  the  wise 
and  watchful  scrutiny  of  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick. 

The  last  days  of  1884,  however,  brought  an  event 
that  cast  a  glow  of  colour  over  the  life  of  Paulina 
and  the  whole  foreign  colony.  This  event  was  none 
other  than  the  marriage  of  Anka  Kusmuk  and  Jacob 


THE   MARRIAGE   OF  ANKA  a? 

Wassyl,  Paulina's  most  popular  lodger.  A  wedding 
is  a  great  human  event.  To  the  principals  the  event 
becomes  the  pivot  of  existence;  to  the  relatives  and 
friends  it  is  at  once  the  consummation  of  a  series  of 
happenings  that  have  absorbed  their  anxious  and 
amused  attention,  and  the  point  of  departure  for  a 
new  phase  of  existence  offering  infinite  possibilities  in 
the  way  of  speculation.  But  even  for  the  casual  on- 
looker a  wedding  furnishes  a  pleasant  arrest  of  the 
ordinary  course  of  life,  and  lets  in  upon  the  dull  grey 
of  the  commonplace  certain  gleams  of  glory  from  the 
golden  days  of  glowing  youth,  or  from  beyond  the 
mysterious  planes  of  experience  yet  to  be. 

All  this  and  more  Anka's  wedding  was  to  Paulina 
and  her  people.  It  added  greatly  to  Pauhna's  joy 
and  to  her  sense  of  importance  that  her  house  was 
selected  to  be  the  scene  of  the  momentous  event.  For 
long  weeks  Paulina's  house  became  the  life  centre  of 
the  colony,  and  as  the  day  drew  nigh  every  boarder 
was  conscious  of  a  certain  reflected  glory.  It  is  no 
wonder  that  the  selecting  of  Paulina's  house  for  the 
wedding  feast  gave  offence  to  Anka's  tried  friend 
and  patron,  Mrs.  Fitzpatrlck.  To  that  lady  it 
seemed  that  in  selecting  Paulina's  house  for  her  wed- 
ding Anka  was  accepting  Paulina's  standard  of 
morals  and  condoning  her  offences,  and  it  only  added 
to  her  grief  that  Anka  took  the  matter  so  lightly. 

"  I  'm  just  affronted  at  ye,  Anka,"  she  complained, 
**  that  ye  can  step  inside  tlie  woman's  dure." 


^8  THE    FOREIGNER 

"Ah,  cut  it  out!"  cried  Anka,  rejoicing  in  her 
command  of  the  vernacular.  "  Sure,  Paulina  is  no 
good,  you  bet ;  but  see,  look  at  her  house  —  dere  Is 
no  Rutenian  house  like  dat,  so  beeg.  Ah ! "  she 
continued  rapturously,  "  you  come  an'  see  me  and 
Jacob  dance  de  '  czardas,'  wit  Arnud  on  de  cym- 
bal. Dat  Arnud  he 's  come  from  de  old  country, 
an'  he 's  de  whole  show,  de  whole  brass  band  on 
de  park." 

To  Anka  it  seemed  an  unnecessary  and  foolish  sac- 
rifice to  the  demands  of  decency  that  she  should 
forego  the  joy  of  a  real  czardas  to  the  music  of  Arnud 
accompanying  the  usual  violins. 

"  Ye  can  have  it,"  sniffed  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick  witK 
emphatic  disdain ;  all  the  more  emphatic  that  she 
was  conscious,  distinctly  conscious,  of  a  strong  desire 
to  witness  this  special  feature  of  the  festivities.  "  I  've 
nothing  agin  you,  Anka,  for  it 's  a  good  gurrl  ye 
are,  but  me  and  me  family  is  respectable,  an'  that 
Father  Mulligan  can  tell  ye,  for  his  own  mother's 
cousin  was  married  till  the  brother  of  me  father's 
uncle,  an'  niver  a  fut  of  me  will  go  beyant  the  dure 
of  that  scut,  Paulina."  And  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick,  rest- 
ing her  hands  upon  her  hips,  stood  the  living  em- 
bodiment of  hostility  to  any  suggested  compromise 
with  sin. 

But  while  determined  to  maintain  at  all  costs  this 
attitude  toward  Paulina  and  her  doings,  her  warm- 
hearted interest  in  Anka's  wedding  made  her  ver;^" 


THE   MARRIAGE    OF   ANKA  29 

ready  with  oifers  of  assistance  in  preparing  for  the 
feast. 

"  It 's  not  much  I  know  about  y're  Polak  atin'," 
she  said,  "  but  I  can  make  a  batch  of  pork  pies  that 
wud  tempt  the  heart  of  the  Howly  Moses  himsilf,  an' 
I  can  give  ye  a  bilin'  of  pitaties  that  Timothy  ca-n 
fetch  to  the  house  for  ye." 

This  generous  offer  Anka  gladly  accepted,  for 
Mrs.  Fitzpatrick's  pork  pies,  she  knew  from  expe- 
rience, were  such  as  might  indeed  have  tempted  so 
respectable  a  patriarch  as  Moses  himself  to  mortal 
sin.  The  "  bilin'  of  pitaties,"  which  Anka  knew  would 
be  prepared  in  no  ordinary  pot,  but  in  Mrs.  Fitz- 
patrick's ample  wash  boiler,  was  none  the  less  accept- 
able, for  Anka  could  easily  imagine  how  effective  such 
a  contribution  would  be  in  the  early  stages  of  the 
feast  in  dulling  the  keen  edge  of  the  Gahcian  appetite. 

The  preparation  for  the  wedding  feast,  which 
might  be  prolonged  for  the  greater  part  of  three 
days,  was  in  itself  an  undertaking  requiring  careful 
planning  and  no  small  degree  of  executive  ability ; 
for  the  popularity  of  both  bride  and  groom  would 
be  sufficient  to  insure  the  presence  of  the  whole  col- 
ony, but  especially  the  reputed  wealth  of  the  bride, 
who,  it  was  well  known,  had  been  saving  with  careful 
economy  her  wages  at  the  New  West  Hotel  for  the 
past  three  years,  would  most  certainly  create  a  de- 
mand for  a  feast  upon  a  scale  of  more  than  ordinary 
magnificence,  and  Anka  was  determined  that  in  pro- 


so  THE   FOREIGNER 

viding  for  the  feast  this  demand  should  be  fuUj 
satisfied. 

For  a  long  time  she  was  torn  between  two  con- 
flicting desires:  on  the  one  hand  she  longed  to  ap- 
pear garbed  in  all  the  glory  of  the  Western  girl's 
most  modern  bridal  attire;  on  the  other  she  coveted 
the  honour  of  providing  a  feast  that  would  live  for 
years  in  the  memory  of  all  who  might  be  privileged 
to  be  present.  Both  she  could  not  accomplish,  and 
ghe  wisely  chose  the  latter ;  for  she  shrewdly  reasoned 
that,  while  the  Western  bridal  garb  would  certainly 
set  forth  her  charms  in  a  new  and  ravishing  style, 
the  glory  of  that  triumph  would  be  short-lived  at 
best,  and  it  would  excite  the  envy  of  the  younger 
members  of  her  own  sex  and  the  criticism  of  the  older 
and  more  conservative  of  her  compatriots. 

She  was  further  moved  to  this  decision  by  the 
thought  that  inasmuch  as  Jacob  and  she  had  it  in 
mind  to  open  a  restaurant  and  hotel  as  soon  as  suffi- 
cient money  was  in  hand,  it  was  important  that  they 
should  stand  well  with  the  community,  and  nothing 
would  so  insure  popularity  as  abundant  and  good 
eating  and  drinking.  So  to  the  preparation  of  a 
feast  that  would  at  once  bring  her  immediate  glory 
and  future  profit,  Anka  set  her  shrewd  wits.  The 
providing  of  the  raw  materials  for  the  feast  was  to 
her  an  easy  matter,  for  her  experience  in  the  New 
West  Hotel  had  taught  her  how  to  expend  to  the  besi 
advantage  her  carefully  hoarded  wages.     The  di£B- 


THE   MARRIAGE   OF   ANKA  31 

culty  was  witli  the  cooking.  Clearly  Paulina  could 
not  be  expected  to  attend  to  this,  for  although  her 
skill  with  certain  soups  and  stews  was  undoubted,  for 
the  finer  achievements  of  the  culinary  art  Paulina  was 
totally  unfitted.  To  overcome  this  diiBculty,  Anka 
hit  upon  the  simple  but  very  effective  expedient  of 
entrusting  to  her  neighbours,  who  would  later  be 
her  guests,  the  preparing  of  certain  dishes  according 
to  their  various  abilities  and  inclinations,  keeping 
close  account  in  her  own  shrewd  mind  of  what  each 
one  might  be  supposed  to  produce  from  the  materials 
furnished,  and  stimulating  in  her  assistants  the  laud- 
able ambition  to  achieve  the  very  best  results. 
Hence,  in  generous  quantities  she  distributed  flour 
for  bread  and  cakes  in  many  varieties,  rice  and 
beans  and  barley,  which  were  to  form  the  staple  por- 
tion of  the  stews,  cabbage  and  beets  and  onions  in 
smaller  measure  —  for  at  this  season  of  the  year  the 
price  was  high  —  sides  of  pork,  ropes  of  sausages, 
and  roasts  of  beef  from  neck  and  flank.  Through 
the  good  offices  of  the  butcher  boy  that  supplied  the 
New  West  Hotel,  purchased  with  Anka's  shyest  smile 
and  glance,  were  secured  a  considerable  accumulation 
of  shank  bones  and  ham  bones,  pork  ribs  and  ribs  of 
beef,  and  other  scraps  too  often  despised  by  the 
Anglo-Saxon  housekeeper,  all  of  which  would  prove 
of  the  greatest  value  in  the  enrichment  of  the  soups. 
For  puddings  there  were  apples  and  prunes,  raisins 
and  cranberries.     The  cook  of  the  New  West  Hotel, 


32  THE   FOREIGNER 

catching  something  of  Anka's  generous  enthusiasm, 
offered  pies  by  the  dozen,  and  even  the  proprietor  him- 
self, learning  of  the  preparations  and  progress,  could 
think  of  nothing  so  appropriate  to  the  occasion  as  a 
case  of  Irish  whiskey.  Tliis,  however,  Anka,  after 
some  deliberation,  declined,  suggesting  beer  instead, 
and  giving  as  a  reason  her  experience,  namely,  that 
"  whiskey  make  too  quick  fight,  you  bet."  A  fight 
was  inevitable,  but  it  would  be  a  sad  misfortune  if 
this  necessary  part  of  the  festivities  should  occur 
too  early  in  the  programme. 

Gradually,  during  the  days  of  the  week  immedi- 
ately preceding  the  ceremony,  there  began  to  ac* 
cumulate  in  the  shacks  about,  viands  of  great  diver- 
sity, which  were  stored  in  shelves,  in  cupboards,  — 
where  there  were  any,  —  under  beds,  and  indeed  in 
any  and  every  available  receptacle.  The  puddings, 
soups  and  stews,  which,  after  all,  were  to  form  tlie 
main  portion  of  the  eating,  were  deposited  in  empty 
beer  kegs,  of  which  every  shack  could  readily  furnish 
a  few,  and  set  out  to  freeze,  in  which  condition  they 
would  preserve  their  perfect  flavour.  Such  diligence 
and  such  prudence  did  Anka  show  in  the  supervision 
of  all  these  arrangements,  that  when  the  day  before 
the  feast  arrived,  on  making  her  final  round  of  in- 
spection, everything  was  discovered  to  be  in  readiness 
for  the  morrow,  with  the  single  exception  that  the 
beer  had  not  arrived.  But  this  was  no  over-sight 
on  the  part  of  Jacob,  to  whom  this  portion  of  the 


THE   MARRIAGE   OF   ANKA  33 

feast  had  been  entrusted.  It  was  rather  due  to  a 
prudence  born  of  experience  that  the  beer  should 
be  ordered  to  be  dehvered  at  the  latest  possible 
hour.  A  single  beer  keg  is  an  object  of  consuming 
interest  to  the  Galician  and  subjects  his  sense  of 
honour  to  a  very  considerable  strain ;  the  known 
presence  of  a  draj  load  of  beer  kegs  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood would  almost  certainly  intensify  the  strain 
beyond  the  brealdng  point.  But  as  the  shadows 
of  evening  began  to  gather,  the  great  brewery 
dray  with  its  splendid  horses  and  its  load  of  kegs 
piled  high,  drew  up  to  Paulina's  door.  Without 
loss  of  time,  and  under  the  supervision  of  Rosenblatt 
and  Jacob  himself,  the  beer  kegs  were  carried  by  the 
willing  hands  of  PauKna's  boarders  down  to  the 
cellar,  piled  high  against  the  walls,  and  carefully 
counted.  There  they  were  safe  enough,  for  every 
man,  not  only  among  the  boarders  but  in  the  whole 
colony,  who  expected  to  be  present  at  the  feast,  hav- 
ing contributed  his  dollar  toward  the  purchase  of  the 
beer,  constituted  himself  a  guardian  against  the  pos- 
sible depredations  of  his  neighbours.  Not  a  beer  keg 
from  this  common  store  was  to  be  touched  until  after 
the  ceremony,  when  every  man  should  have  a  fair 
start.  For  the  preliminary  celebrations  during  the 
evening  and  night  preceding  the  wedding  day  the 
beer  furnished  by  the  proprietor  of  the  New  West 
Hotel  would  prove  sufficient. 

It  was  considered  a  most  fortunate  circumstance 
3 


34  THE   FOREIGNER 

both  by  the  bride  and  groom-elect,  that  there  should 
have  appeared  m  the  city,  the  week  before,  a  priest 
of  the  Greek  Catholic  faith,  for  though  in  case  of 
need  they  could  have  secured  the  offices  of  a  Roman 
priest  from  St.  Boniface,  across  the  river,  the  cere- 
monial would  thereby  have  been  shorn  of  much  of  its 
picturesqueness  and  efficacy.  Anka  and  her  people 
had  little  regard  for  the  services  of  a  Church  to 
which  they  owed  only  nominal  allegiance. 

The  wedding  day  dawned  clear,  bright,  and  not 
too  cold  to  forbid  a  great  gathering  of  the  people 
outside  Paulina's  house,  who  stood  reverently  joining 
with  those  who  had  been  fortunate  enough  to  secure  a 
place  in  Paulina's  main  room,  which  had  been  cleared 
of  all  beds  and  furniture,  and  transformed  for  the  time 
being  into  a  chapel.  The  Slav  is  a  religious  man^  in- 
tensely, and  if  need  be,  fiercely,  religious ;  hence  these 
people,  having  been  deprived  for  long  months  of  the 
services  of  their  Church,  joined  with  eager  and  devout 
reverence  in  the  responses  to  the  prayers  of  the  priest, 
kneeling  in  the  snow  unmoved  by  and  apparently 
unconscious  of  the  somewhat  scornful  levity  of  the 
curious  crowd  of  onlookers  that  speedily  gathered 
about  them.  For  more  than  two  hours  the  religious 
part  of  the  ceremony  continued,  but  there  was  no 
sign  of  abating  interest  or  of  waning  devotion ; 
rather  did  the  religious  feeling  appear  to  deepen 
as  the  service  advanced.  At  length  there  floated 
through  the  open  window  the  weirdly  beautiful  and 


THE   MARRIAGE   OF   ANIwV  35 

stately  marriage  chant,  in  which  the  people  joined 
in  deep-toned  guttural  fervour,  then  the  benediction, 
and  the  ceremony  was  over.  Immediately  there  was 
a  movement  toward  the  cellar,  where  Rosenblatt,  as- 
sisted by  a  score  of  helpers,  began  to  knock  in  the 
heads  of  the  beer  kegs  and  to  hand  about  tin  cups  of 
beer  for  the  first  drinking  of  the  bride's  health. 
Beautiful  indeed,  in  her  husband's  eyes  and  the  eyes 
of  all  who  beheld  her,  appeared  Anka  as  she  stood 
with  Jacob  in  the  doorway,  radiant  in  the  semi- 
barbai'ic  splendour  of  her  Slavonic  ancestry. 

This  first  formal  health-drinldng  ceremony  over, 
from  within  Paulina's  house  and  from  shacks  round- 
about, women  appeared  with  pots  and  pails,  from 
which,  without  undue  haste,  but  without  undue  delay, 
men  filled  tin  cups  and  tin  pans  with  stews  rich, 
luscious,  and  gai'lic  flavoured.  The  feast  was  on ; 
the  Slav's  hour  of  rapture  had  come.  From  pot  to 
keg  and  from  keg  to  pot  the  happy  crowd  would 
continue  to  pass  in  alternating  moods  of  joy,  until 
the  acme  of  bliss  would  be  attained  when  Jacob,  lead- 
ing forth  and  up  and  down  his  lace-decked  bride, 
would  fling  the  proud  challenge  to  one  and  all  that 
his  bride  was  the  fairest  and  dearest  of  all  brides 
ever  known. 

Thus  with  full  ceremonial,  with  abundance  of  good 
eating,  and  with  multitudinous  libations,  Anka  was 
wed. 


$6  THE   FOREIGNER 


CHAPTER    rV 

THE    UNBIDDEN    GUEST 

THE  northbound  train  on  the  Northern  Pacific 
Line  was  running  away  behind  her  time.  A 
Dakota  bhzzard  had  held  her  up  for  five  hours,  and 
there  was  httle  chance  of  making  time  against  a  heavy 
wind  and  a  drifted  rail.  The  train  was  crowded  with 
passengers,  all  impatient  at  the  delay,  as  is  usual  with 
passengers.  The  most  restless,  if  not  the  most  im- 
patient, of  those  in  the  first-class  car  was  a  foreign- 
looking  gentleman,  tall,  dark,  and  with  mihtary  car- 
riage. A  grizzled  moustache  with  ends  waxed  to  a 
needle  point  and  an  imperial  accentuated  his  for- 
eign military  appearance.  At  every  pause  the  train 
made  at  the  little  wajj^side  stations,  this  gentleman 
became  visibly  more  impatient,  pulling  out  his 
watch,  consulting  his  time  table,  and  cursing  the 
delay. 

Occasionally  he  glanced  out  through  the  window 
across  the  white  plain  that  stretched  level  to  the 
horizon,  specked  here  and  there  by  infrequent  little 
black  shacks  and  by  huge  stacks  of  straw  half  buried 
in  snow.     Suddenly  his  attention  was  arrested  by  a 


THE   UNBIDDEN    GUEST  3/ 

trim  line  of  small  buildings  cosily  ensconced  behind  a 
plantation  of  poplars  and  Manitoba  maples. 

"What  are  those  structures?  "  he  enquired  of  his 
neighbour  in  carefiil  book  Enghsh,  and  witli  slightly 
foreign  accent. 

"What.?  That  bunch  of  buildings.  That  is  a 
Mcnnonite  village,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Mennonite !     Ah!" 

"  Yes,"  replied  his  neighbour.  "  Dutch,  or  Rus- 
sian, or  something." 

"  Yes,  Russian,"  answered  the  stranger  quickly. 
"  That  is  Russian,  surely,"  he  continued,  pointing 
eagerly  to  the  trim  and  cosy  group  of  buildings. 
"  These  Mennonites,  are  they  prosperous  —  ah  — 
citizens  —  ah  —  settlers.''  " 

"  You  bet !  They  make  money  where  other  folks 
would  starve.  They  know  what  they  're  doing. 
They  picked  out  this  land  that  everybody  else  was 
passing  over  —  the  very  best  in  the  country  —  and 
they  are  making  money  hand  over  fist.  Mighty  poor 
spenders,  though.  They  won't  buy  nothing;  eat 
what  they  can't  sell  off  the  farm." 

"Aha,"  ejaculated  the  stranger,  with  a  smile. 

"  Yes,  they  sell  everything,  grain,  hogs,  eggs, 
butter,  and  live  on  cabbages,  cheese,  bread." 

"  Aha,"  repeated  the  stranger,  again  with  evident 
approval. 

"  They  are  honest,  though,"  continued  his  neigh- 
bour judicially;    "we  sell  them  implements." 


38  THE    FOREIGNER 

"  Ah,  implements  ?  "  enquired  the  stranger. 
"  Yes,  ploughs,  drills,  binders,  you  linow.'* 
"  Ah,  so,  implements,"  said  the  stranger,  evidently 
making  a  mental  note  of  the  word.     "  And  they  pay 


you 


?  " 


"  Yes,  they  are  good  pay,  mighty  good  pay.  They 
are  good  settlers,  too." 

"  Not  good  for  soldiers,  eh? "  laughed  the 
stranger. 

"  Soldiers.?  No,  I  guess  not.  But  we  don't  want 
soldiers." 

"  What  ?    You  have  no  soldiers  ?     No  garrisons  ?  " 

"  No,  what  do  we  want  soldiers  for  in  this  coun- 
try.''   We  want  farmers  and  lots  of  them." 

The  stranger  was  apparently  much  struck  with 
this  remark.  He  pursued  the  subject  with  keen  inter- 
est. If  there  were  no  soldiers,  how  was  order  pre- 
served.'' What  happened  in  the  case  of  riots.''  Wliat 
about  the  collecting  of  taxes  .-* 

"  Riots  ?  There  ain't  no  riots  in  this  country. 
What  would  we  riot  for?  We  're  too  busy.  And 
taxes?     There  ain't  no  taxes  except  for  schools." 

"  Not   for   churches?  "   enquired   the   foreigner. 

"  No,  every  man  supports  his  own  church  or  no 
church  at  all  if  he  likes  it  better." 

The  foreigner  was  deeply  impressed.  What  a 
country  it  was,  to  be  sure !  No  soldiers,  no  riots,  no 
taxes,  and  churches  only  for  those  who  wanted  them! 
He  made  diligent  enquiry  as  to  the  Mennonite  settle- 


THE   UNBIDDEN    GUEST  39 

mcnts,  where  tliey  were  placed,  their  size,  the  charac- 
ter of  the  people  and  all  things  pertaining  to  them. 
But  when  questioned  in  regard  to  liimself  or  his  own 
affairs,  he  at  once  became  reticent.  He  was  a  citizen 
of  many  countries.  He  was  travelling  for  pleasure 
and  to  gather  knowledge.  Yes,  he  might  one  day 
settle  in  the  country,  but  not  now.  He  relapsed  into 
silence,  sitting  with  his  head  fallen  forward  upon  his 
breast,  and  so  sat  till  the  brakeman  passing  through 
shouted,  "  Winnipeg !  All  change !  "  Then  he  rose, 
thanked  with  stiff  and  formal  politeness  his  seat- 
mate  for  his  courtesy,  put  on  his  long  overcoat  lined 
with  lambskin  and  adorned  with  braid,  placed  his 
lambskin  cap  upon  his  head,  and  so  stood  looldng 
more  than  ever  like  a  military  man. 

The  station  platform  at  Winnipeg  was  the  scene 
of  uproar  and  confusion.  Railway  baggagemen  and 
porters,  with  warning  cries,  pushed  their  trucks 
through  the  crowd.  Hotel  runners  shouted  the  rates 
and  nam.es  of  their  hotels.  Express  men  and  cab 
drivers  vociferously  solicited  custom.  Citizens,  heed- 
less of  every  one,  pushed  their  eager  way  through  the 
crowd  to  welcome  friends  and  relatives.  It  was  a 
busy,  bustling,  confusing  scene.  But  the  stranger 
stood  unembarrassed,  as  if  quite  accustomed  to  move 
amid  jostling  crowds,  casting  quick,  sharp  glances 
hither  and  thither. 

Gradually  the  platform  cleared.  The  hotel  run- 
ners marched  off  in  triumph  with  their  victims,  and 


40  THE   FOREIGNER 

express  drivers  and  cab  men  drove  off  with  their  fares, 
and  only  a  scattering  few  were  left  behind.  At  one 
end  of  the  platform  stood  two  men  in  sheepskin  coats 
and  caps.  The  stranger  &iowly  moved  toward  them. 
As  he  drew  near,  the  men  glanced  at  first  carelessly, 
then  more  earnestly  at  him.  For  a  few  moments  he 
stood  gazing  down  the  street,  then  said,  as  if  to  him- 
self, in  the  Russian  tongue,  "  The  wind  blows  from 
the  north  to-night." 

Instantly  the  men  came  to  rigid  attention. 

*'  And  the  snow  hes  deep,"  replied  one,  raising  his 
hand  in  salute. 

"  But  spring  will  come,  brother,"  replied  the 
stranger. 

One  of  the  men  came  quickly  toward  him,  took  his 
hand  and  kissed  it. 

"  Fool ! "  said  the  stranger,  drawing  away  his 
hand,  and  sweeping  his  sharp  glance  round  the  plat- 
form. "  The  bear  that  hunts  in  the  open  is  himself 
soon  hunted." 

*'  Ha,  ha,"  laughed  the  other  man  loudly,  "  in  this 
country  there  is  no  hunting,  brother." 

"  Fool ! "  said  the  stranger  again  in  a  low, 
stem  voice.  "  Where  game  is,  there  is  always 
hunting." 

"  How  can  we  serve?  What  does  my  brother 
wish.''  "  replied  the  man. 

"  I  wish  the  house  of  Paulina  Koval.  Do  you  know. 
where  it  is.^*  " 


THE   UNBIDDEN    GUEST  41 

"  Yes,  we  know,  but  —  "  the  men  hesitated,  look- 
ing at  each  other. 

"  There  is  no  place  for  our  brother  in  Paulina 
Koval's  house,"  said  the  one  who  had  spoken  first. 
"  Pauhna  has  no  room.  Her  house  is  full  with  her 
children  and  with  many  boarders." 

"  Indeed,"  said  the  stranger,  "  and  how  many.''  " 

"  Well,"  replied  the  other,  counting  upon  his 
fingers,  "  there  is  Paulina  and  her  three  children, 
and  —  " 

"  Two  children,"  corrected  the  stranger  sharply. 

"  No,  three  cliildren.  Yes,  three."  He  paused  in 
his  enumeration  as  if  struck  by  a  belated  thought. 
"  It  is  three  children,  Joseph.?  "  he  proceeded,  turn- 
ing to  his  friend. 

Joseph  confirmed  his  memory,  "  Yes,  Simon, 
three ;    the  girl,  the  boy  and  the  baby." 

The  stranger  was  clearly  perplexed  and  disturbed. 

"  Go  on,"  he  said  curtly. 

"  There  is  Paulina  and  the  three  children,  and 
Rosenblatt,  and  —  " 

"  Rosenblatt ! "  The  word  shot  from  the 
stranger's  lips  with  the  vehemence  of  a  bullet  from  a 
rifle.  "  Rosenblatt  in  her  house !  S-s-s-o-o-o  !  "  He 
thrust  his  face  forward  into  the  speaker's  with  a  long 
hissing  sound,  so  fiercely  venomous  that  the  man  fell 
back  a  pace.  Quickly  the  stranger  recovered  himself. 
"  Look  you,  brothers,  I  need  a  room  for  a  few  days, 
anywhere,  a  small  room,  and  I  can  pay  well." 


42  THE   FOREIGNER 

"  ]\Iy  house,"  said  the  man  named  Joseph,  "  is 
yours,  but  there  are  six  men  with  me." 

Quickly  the  other  took  it  up.  "  My  poor  house  is 
small,  two  children,  but  if  the  Elder  brother  would 
accept.?  " 

"  I  will  accept,  my  friend,"  said  the  stranger. 
"  You  shall  lose  nothing  by  it."  He  took  up  the 
bag  that  he  had  placed  beside  him  on  the  platform, 
saying  briefly,  "  Lead  the  way." 

**  Your  pardon,  brother,"  said  Simon,  taking  the 
bag  from  him,  "  this  is  the  way." 

Northward  across  the  railway  tracks  and  up  the 
street  for  two  blocks,  then  westward  they  turned, 
toward  the  open  prairie.  After  walking  some  min- 
utes, Simon  pointed  to  a  huddling  group  of  shacks 
startlingly  black  against  the  dazzling  snow. 

"  There,"  he  cried  with  a  laugh,  "  there  is  little 
Russia." 

"  Not  Russia,"  said  Joseph,  "  Galicia." 

The  stranger  stood  still,  gazing  at  the  little 
shacks,  and  letting  his  eye  wander  across  the  dazzling 
plain,  tinted  now  with  crimson  and  with  gold  from 
the  setting  sun,  to  the  horizon.  Then  pointing  to  the/' 
shacks  he  said,  "  That  is  Canada.  Yonder,"  sweep- 
ing his  hand  toward  the  plain,  "  is  Siberia.  But," 
turning  suddenly  upon  the  men,  "  what  are  you?  " 

"  We  are  free  men,"  said  Joseph.  "  We  are 
Canadians." 

'*  We     are     Canadians,"     answered     Simon     moT« 


THE   UNBIDDEN    GUEST  45 

slowly.  "  But  here,"  laying  his  hand  over  his  heart, 
"  here  is  always  Russia  and  our  brothers  of  Russia." 

The  stranger  turned  a  keen  glance  upon  him.  "  I 
beHeve  you,"  he  said.  "  No  Russian  can  forget  his 
fatherland.  No  Russian  can  forget  his  brother." 
Kis  eyes  were  ht  Avith  a  dreamy  light,  as  he  gazed  far 
beyond  the  plain  and  the  glowing  horizon. 

At  the  door  of  the  httle  black  shack  Simon  halted 
the  party. 

"  Pardon,  I  will  prepare  for  my  brother,"  he  said. 

As  he  opened  the  door  a  cloud  of  steaming  odours 
rushed  forth  to  meet  them.  The  stranger  drew  back 
and  turned  his  face  again  to  the  horizon,  drawing 
deep  breaths  of  the  crisp  air,  purified  by  its  sweep 
of  a  thousand  miles  over  snow  clad  prairie. 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  "  wonderful !  wonderful !  Yes, 
thcit  is  Russia,  that  air,  that  sky,  that  plain." 

After  some  minutes  Simon  returned. 

"  Enter,"  he  said,  bowing  low.  "  This  is  your 
house,  brother ;   we  are  your  slaves." 

It  was  a  familiar  Russian  salutation. 

"  No,"  said  the  stranger,  quickly  stretching  out 
his  hand.  "  No  slaves  in  this  land,  thank  God !  but 
brothers  all." 

"  Your  brothers  truly,"  said  Simon,  dropping  on 
his  knee  and  kissing  the  outstretched  hand.  "  Lena," 
he  called  to  his  wife,  who  stood  modestly  at  the 
other  side  of  the  room,  "  this  is  the  Elder  of  our 
Brotherhood." 


44  THE   FOREIGNER 

Lena  came  forward,  dropped  on  her  knees  an3 
kissed  the  outstretched  hand. 

*'  Come,  Margaret,"  she  cried,  drawing  her  little 
girl  of  six  toward  the  stranger,  "  come  and  salute 
the  master." 

Little  Margaret  came  forward  and  offered  her 
hand,  looking  up  with  brave  shyness  into  the 
stranger's  face. 

"  Shame !  shame !  "  said  Lena,  horrified.  "  Kneel 
down !     Kneel  down !  " 

"  She  does  not  understand  how  to  salute,"  said  her 
father  with  an  apologetic  smile. 

"  Aha,  so,"  cried  the  stranger,  looking  curiously 
at  the  little  girl,  "  Where  did  you  learn  to  shake 
hands  ? " 

"  In  school,"  said  the  child  in  English. 

"  In  school?  "  replied  the  stranger  in  the  same 
language.     "  You  go  to  school.     What  school.?  " 

"  The  public  school,  sir." 

"  And  do  they  not  teach  you  to  kneel  when  you 
salute  in  the  pubKc  school?  " 

"  No,  sir,  we  never  kneel." 

"  What  then  do  you  learn  there  ?  " 

"  We  sing,  and  read,  and  write,  and  march,  and 
sew." 

"  Aha !  "  cried  the  stranger  delighted.  "  You 
learn  many  things.  And  what  do  you  pay  for  aU 
this  ?  "  he  said  in  Russian  to  the  father. 

"  Nothing." 


THE   UNBIDDEN    GUEST  45 

"  Wonderful !  "  cried  the  stranger.  "  And  who 
taught  her  English?  " 

"  No  one.     She  just  learned  it  from  the  children." 

"  Aha,  that  is  good." 

The  father  and  mother  stood  struggling  with  their 
pride  in  their  little  girl.  A  sound  of  shouting 
and  of  singing  made  the  stranger  turn  toward  the 
window. 

"  What  is  that.?  "  he  cried. 

"  A  wedding,"  repHed  Simon.  "  There  is  a  great 
wedding  at  Paulina's.     Every  one  is  there." 

"At  Paulina's.?"  said  the  stranger.  "And  you, 
why  are  you  not  there.?  " 

"  We  are  no  friends  of  Rosenblatt.'* 

"  Rosenblatt.?     And  what  has  he  to  do  with  it.?  " 

"  Rosenblatt,"  said  Joseph  suUenly,  "  is  master 
in  Paulina's  home." 

"  Aha !  He  is  master,  and  you  are  no  friends  of 
his,"  returned  the  stranger.  "  Tell  me  why  this 
is  so.?  " 

"  We  are  Russian,  he  is  Bukowinian ;  he  hires 
men  to  the  railroad,  we  hire  ourselves ;  he  has  a 
store,  we  buy  in  the  Canadian  stores,  therefore,  he 
hates  us." 

The  stranger  nodded  his  head,  comprehending  the 
situation. 

"  And  so  you  are  not  invited  to  the  wedding." 

"  No,  we  are  not  invited  to  the  wedding,"  said 
Joseph  in  a  tone  of  regret. 


4«  THE   FOREIGr>rER 

"  And  they  are  your  friends  who  are  being 
married?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  there  is  good  eating  and  drinking  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  cried  Joseph  eagerly.  "  Such  a  feast ! 
Such  a  load  of  beer !     And  such  a  dance !  " 

"  It  is  a  pity,"  said  the  stranger,  "  to  miss  it  all. 
You  fear  this  Rosenblatt,"  he  continued,  with  a 
hardly  perceptible  sneer. 

"  Fear !  "  cried  Simon.  "  No !  But  one  does  not 
enter  a  shut  door." 

"  Aha,  but  think  of  it,"  said  the  stranger,  "  the 
feasting  and  the  dancing,  and  the  beer !  I  would  go 
to  this  wedding  feast  myself,  were  I  not  a  stranger. 
I  would  go  if  I  loiew  the  bride." 

"  We  will  take  our  brother,"  cried  Joseph  eagerly. 
*'  Our  friends  will  welcome  him." 

Simon  hesitated. 

"  I  like  not  Rosenblatt." 

*'  But  Rosenblatt  will  be  too  drunk  by  this  time,** 
suggested  the  stranger. 

"  Not  he,"  replied  Simon.  "  He  never  gets  drunk 
where  there  is  a  chance  to  gather  a  dollar." 

"But  the  feast  is  free?" 

"  Yes,  the  feast  is  free,  but  there  is  always  money 
going.  There  is  betting  and  there  is  the  music  for 
the  dancing,  which  is  Rosenblatt's.  He  has  hired 
Amud  and  his  cymbal  and  the  violins,  and  the  dancer* 
must  pay." 


THE   UNBIDDEN    GUEST  47 

"  Aha,  very  clever,"  replied  the  stranger.  "  This 
Rosenblatt  is  a  shrewd  man.  He  will  be  a  great  man 
in  this  city.     He  will  be  your  lord  some  day." 

The  eyes  of  both  men  gleamed  at  his  jibes.  "  Aha," 
the  stranger  continued,  "  he  will  make  you  serve 
him  by  his  money.  Canada  is,  indeed,  a  free 
country,  but  there  will  be  master  and  slaves  here, 
too." 

It  was  a  sore  spot  to  the  men,  for  the  mastery  of 
Rosenblatt  was  no  imagination,  but  a  grim  reality. 
It  was  with  difficulty  that  any  man  could  get  a  good 
job  unless  by  Rosenblatt's  agency.  It  was  Rosen- 
blatt who  contracted  for  the  Galician  labour.  One 
might  hate  Rosenblatt,  or  despise  him,  but  it  was 
impossible  to  ignore  him. 

"  What  say  you,  my  brothers,"  said  the  stranger, 
"  shall  we  attend  this  feast  ?  " 

The  men  were  eager  to  go.  ^"Ihy  should  Rosen- 
blatt stand  in  their  way?  Were  they  not  good 
friends  of  Jacob  and  Anka.''  Was  not  every  home 
in  the  colony  open  to  a  stranger,  and  especially  a 
stranger  of  rank.''  Simon  swallowed  his  pride  and 
led  the  way  to  Paulina's  house. 

There  was  no  need  of  a  guide  to  the  house  where 
the  feasting  was  in  progress.  The  shouting  and  sing- 
ing of  the  revellers  hailed  them  from  afar,  and  as 
they  drew  near,  the  crowd  about  the  door  indicated 
the  house  of  mirth.  Joseph  and  Simon  were  wel- 
comed with  overflowing  hospitality  and  mugs  of  beer. 


48  THE   FOREIGNER 

But  when  they  turned  to  introduce  the  stranger,  they 
found  that  he  had  disappeared,  nor  could  they  dis- 
cover him  anywhere  in  the  crowd.  In  their  search 
for  him,  they  came  upon  Rosenblatt,  who  at  once 
assailed  them. 

"  How  come  you  Slovaks  here  ? "  he  cried  con- 
temptuously, 

"  Where  the  trough  is,  there  the  pigs  will  come," 
laughed  one  of  his  satelKtes. 

"  I  come  to  do  honour  to  my  friend,  Jacob  "Was- 
syl,"  said  Simon  in  a  loud  voice. 

"  Of  course,"  cried  a  number  of  friendly  voices. 
*'  And  why  not?    That  is  quite  right  " 

"  Jacob  Wassyl  wants  none  of  you  here,"  shouted 
Rosenblatt  over  the  crowd. 

"Who  speaks  for  Jacob  Wassyl?"  cried  a  voice. 
It  was  Jacob  himself,  standing  in  the  door,  wet  with 
sweat,  flushed  with  dancing  and  exhilarated  with  the 
beer  and  with  all  the  ardours  of  his  wedding  day. 
For  that  day  at  lea»st,  Jacob  owned  the  world. 
"  What  ?  "  he  cried,  "  is  it  my  friend  Simon  Ketzel 
and  my  friend  Joseph  Pinkas  ?  " 

"  We  were  not  invited  to  come  to  your  wedding, 
Jacob  Wassyl,"  replied  Simon  "  but  we  desired  to 
honour  your  bride  and  yourself." 

"  Aye,  and  so  you  shall.  You  are  welcome,  Simon 
Ketzel.  You  are  welcome,  Joseph  Pinkas,  Who  says 
you  are  not?  "'he  continued,  turning  defiantly  to 
Rosenblatt. 


THE   UNBIDDEN    GUEST  4& 

Rosenblatt  hesitated,  and  then  grunted  out  some- 
thing that  sounded  Hke  "  Slovak  swine !  " 

"  Slovak !  "  cried  Jacob  with  generous  enthusiasm. 
"  We  are  all  Slovak.  We  are  all  Polak.  We  are  all 
Galician.  We  are  all  brothers.  Any  man  who  says 
no,  is  no  friend  of  Jacob  Wassyl." 

Shouts  of  approval  rose  from  the  excited  crowd. 

"  Come,  brothers,"  shouted  Jacob  to  Simon  and 
Joseph,  "  come  in.  There  is  abundant  eating.  Make 
way  for  my  friends !  "  He  crowded  back  through 
the  door,  taking  especial  delight  in  honouring  the 
men  despised  of  Rosenblatt. 

The  room  was  packed  with  steaming,  swaying, 
roaring  dancers,  both  men  and  women,  all  reeking 
with  sweat  and  garhc.  Upon  a  platform  in  a  corner 
between  two  violins,  sat  Amud  before  liis  cymbal, 
resplendent  in  frilled  shirt  and  embroidered  vest, 
thundering  on  his  instrument  the  favourite  songs  of 
the  dancers,  shouting  now  and  then  in  unison  with 
the  melody  that  pattered  out  in  metallic  rain  from 
the  instrument  before  him.  For  four  hours  and 
more,  with  intervals  sufficient  only  to  quench  their 
thirst,  the  players  had  kept  up  their  interminable 
accompaniment  to  dance  and  song.  It  was  clearly 
no  place  for  hungry  men.  Jacob  pushed  his  way 
toward  the  inner  room. 

"  Ho  !  Paulina !  "  he  shouted,  "  two  plates  for  men 
who  have  not  eaten." 

"  Have    not    eaten ! "      The    startling    statement 
4 


50  THE   FOREIGNER 

quickened  Paulina's  slow  movements  almost  to  a  run. 
"  Here,  here,"  she  said,  "  bring  them  to  the  window 
at  the  back." 

Another  struggle  and  Jacob  with  his  guests  were 
receiving  through  the  window  two  basins  filled  with 
luscious  steaming  stew. 

As  they  turned  away  with  their  generous  host,  a 
man  with  a  heavy  black  beard  appeared  at  the 
window. 

"  Another  hungry  man,  Paulina,"  he  said  quietly 
in  the  Galician  tongue. 

"  Holy  Virgin !  Where  have  these  hungry  men 
been.?  "  cried  Paulina,  hurrying  with  another  basin 
to  the  window. 

The  man  fumbled  and  hesitated  as  he  took  the 
dish. 

"  I  have  been  far  away,"  he  said,  speaking  now  in 
the  Russian  tongue,  in  a  low  and  tense  voice. 

Paulina  started.  The  man  caught  her  by  the 
wrist. 

"  Quiet !  "  he  said.     "  Speak  no  word,  PauHna." 

The  woman  paled  beneath  the  dirt  and  tan  upon 
her  face. 

"Who  is  it.?  "  she  whispered  with  parched  lips. 

"  You  know  it  is  Michael  Kalmar,  your  husband. 
Come  forth.  I  wait  behind  yon  hut.  No  word  to 
any  man." 

"You  mean  to  kill  me,"  she  said,  her  fat  hodj. 
shaking  as  if  with  palsy. 


THE    UNBIDDEN    GUEST  51 

"Bail!  You  sow!  Who  would  kill  a  sow?  Come 
forth,  I  say.     Delay  not." 

He  disappeared  at  once  behind  the  neighbouring 
shack.  Paulina,  trembling  so  that  her  fingers  could 
hardly  pin  the  shawl  she  put  over  her  head,  made 
her  way  through  the  crowd.  A  few  moments  she 
stood  before  her  door,  as  if  uncertain  which  way  to 
turn,  her  limbs  trembling,  her  breath  coming  hke 
sobs.     In  this  plight  Rosenblatt  came  upon  her. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Paulina.'*  '*  he  cried, 
"  What  is  your  business  here.'*  " 

A  swift  change  came  over  her. 

"  I  am  no  dog  of  yours,"  she  said,  her  sullen  face 
flaming  with  passion. 

"  What  do  you  mean.?  "  cried  Rosenblatt.  "  Get 
into  your  house,  cat!" 

"  Yes !  cat !  "  cried  the  woman,  rushing  at  him 
with  fingers  extended. 

One  swift  swoop  she  made  at  his  face,  bringing  skin 
and  hair  on  her  nails.  Rosenblatt  turned,  and  cry- 
ing, "  She  is  mad  !  She  is  mad  !  "  made  for  the  shelter 
of  the  cellar,  followed  by  the  shouts  and  jeers  of  the 
men  standing  about. 

Raging,  at  the  door  Paulina  sought  entrance,  cry- 
ing, "  I  was  a  good  woman.  He  made  me  bad." 
Then  turning  away,  she  walked  slowly  to  the  back 
of  her  house  and  passed  beliind  the  neighbouring 
shack  where  the  man  stood  waiting  her. 

With  dragging  steps  she  approached,  till  within 


52  THE   FOREIGNER 

touch  of  him,  when,  falling  down  upon  her  knees  in 
the  snow,  she  put  her  head  upon  his  feet. 

"  Get  up,  fool,"  he  cried  harshly. 

She  rose  and  stood  with  her  chin  upon  her  breast. 

"  My  children !  "  said  the  man.  "  Where  are  my 
children?  " 

She  pointed  towards  the  house  of  her  neighbour, 
Mrs.  Fitzpatrick.  "  With  a  neighbour  woman,"  she 
said,  and  turned  herself  toward  him  again  with  head 
bowed  down. 

"  And  yours  ?  "  he  hissed. 

She  shuddered  violently. 

"  Speak,"  he  said  in  a  voice  low,  calm  and  ter- 
rible, "  Do  you  wish  me  to  kill  you  where  you 
stand?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  throwing  her  shawl  over  her 
face,  "  kill  me !  Kill  me  now !  It  will  be  good  to 
die ! " 

With  a  curse,  his  hand  went  to  his  side.  He  stood 
looking  at  her  quietly  for  a  few  moments  as  if 
deliberating. 

"  No,"  he  said  at  length,  "  it  is  not  worth  while. 
You  are  no  wife  of  mine.     Do  you  hear?  " 

She  gave  no  sign. 

"  You  are  Rosenblatt's  swine.     Let  him  use  you." 

Another  shudder  shook  her. 

"  Oh,  my  lord !  "  she  moaned,  "  kill  me.  Let  me 
die!" 

"  Bah !  "     He  spat  on  the  snow.     "  Die,  when  I 


THE   UNBIDDEN    GUEST  5$ 

have  done  with  you,  perhaps.  Take  me  where  we  can 
be  alone.     Go." 

She  glanced  about  at  the  shacks  standing  blade 
and  without  sign  of  life. 

"  Come,"  she  said,  leading  the  way. 

He  followed  her  to  a  shack  which  stood  on  the 
outskirts  of  the  colony.  She  pushed  open  the  door 
and  stood  back. 

"  Go  in,"  he  said  savagely.     "  Now  a  light." 

He  struck  a  match.  Pauhna  found  a  candle  which 
he  lit  and  placed  on  a  box  that  stood  in  the 
corner. 

"  Cover  that  window,"  he  commanded. 

She  took  a  quilt  from  the  bed  and  pinned  it  up. 
For  a  long  time  he  stood  motionless  in  the  centre 
of  the  room,  while  she  knelt  at  his  feet.  Then  he 
spoke  with  some  deliberation. 

"  It  is  possible  I  shall  kill  you  to-night,  so  speak 
truly  to  me  in  the  name  of  God  and  of  the  Holy 
Virgin.  I  ask  you  of  my  children.  My  girl  is  eleven 
years  old.  Have  you  protected  her?  Or  is  she 
—  like  you  ?  " 

She  threw  off  her  shawl,  pulled  up  her  sleeves. 

"  See,"  she  cried,  "  my  back  is  like  that.  Your 
daughter  is  safe." 

Livid  bars  of  purple  striped  her  arms.  The  man 
gazed  down  at  her. 

"  You  swear  this  by  the  Holy  Cross  ? "  he  said 
solemnly. 


54  THE   FOREIGNER 

She  puDed  a  little  iron  cross  from  her  breast  and 
kissed  it,  then  looked  up  at  him  with  dog's  eyes  of 
entreaty. 

"  Oh,  my  lord !  *'  she  began.  *'  I  conld  not  save 
myself.  I  was  a  stranger.  He  took  my  money.  We 
had  no  home." 

"  Stop,  liar,"  he  thundered,  "  I  gave  you  money 
when  you  left  Galicia." 

"  Yes,  I  paid  it  for  the  house,  and  still  there  was 
more  to  pay." 

"  Liar  again !  "  he  hissed ;  *'  I  sent  you  money 
every  month.     I  have  your  receipts  for  it." 

"  I  had  no  money  from  you,"  she  said  humbly. 
"  He  forced  me  to  have  men  sleep  in  my  house  and 
in  my  room,  or  lose  my  home.  And  the  children, 
what  could  I  do.''  They  could  not  go  out  into  the 
snow." 

"  You  got  no  money  from  me.** "  he  enquired. 

Again  she  kissed  the  httle  cross.  "  I  swear  it. 
[And  what  could  I  do  .^  " 

"  Do !  "  cried  the  man,  his  voice  choked  with  rage. 
"  Do !    You  could  die !  " 

"And  the  children?" 

He  was  silent,  looking  down  upon  her.  He  began 
to  realize  the  helplessness  of  her  plight.  In  a  strange 
land,  she  found  herself  without  friends,  and  charged 
with  the  support  of  two  children.  The  money  he  had 
given  her  she  had  invested  in  a  house,  through  Rosen- 
blatt, who  insisted  that  payments  were  still  due.    No 


THE   UNBIDDEN    GUEST  55 

wonder  he  had  terrified  her  into   submission   to  his 
plans. 

While  his  contempt  remained,  her  husband's  rage 
grew  less.  After  a  long  silence  he  said,  "  Listen. 
This  feast  will  last  two  days  ?  " 

"  Yes,  there  is  food  and  drink  for  two  days." 
"  In  two  days  my  work  here  will  be  done.  Then 
I  go  back.  I  must  go  back.  My  children !  my  chil- 
dren! what  of  my  children.''  My  dead  Olga's  chil- 
dren !  "  He  began  to  pace  the  room.  He  forgot  the 
woman  on  the  floor.  "  Oh,  fatherland !  My  father- 
land !  "  he  cried  in  a  voice  broken  with  passionate 
grief,  "  must  I  sacrifice  these  too  for  thee.''  God  in 
heaven !  Father,  mother,  brother,  home,  wife,  all 
I  have  given.  Must  I  give  my  children,  too.'*  "  His 
strong  dark  face  was  working  fiercely.  His  voice 
came  harsh  and  broken.  "  No,  no !  By  all  the 
saints,  no !  I  will  keep  my  cliildren  for  Olga's  sake. 
I  will  let  my  wretched  country  go.  What  matter  to 
me.''  I  will  make  a  new  home  in  this  free  land  and 
forget.  Ah,  God !  Forget  ?  I  can  never  forget ! 
These  plains !  "  He  tore  aside  the  quilt  from  the 
window  and  stooping  looked  out  upon  the  prairie. 
"  These  plains  say  Russia !  This  gleaming  snow, 
Russia !  Ah !  Ah !  Ah !  I  cannot  forget,  while  I 
live,  my  people,  my  fatherland.  I  have  suffered  too 
much  to  forget.  God  forget  me,  if  I  forget !  "  He 
fell  on  his  knees  before  the  window,  dry  sobs  shaking 
his  powerful  frame.     He  rose  and  began  again  to 


5Q  THE   FOREIGNER 

stride  up  and  down,  his  hands  locked  before  him. 
Suddenly  he  stood  quite  still,  making  mighty  efforts 
to  regain  command  of  himself.  For  some  moments 
he  stood  thus  rigid. 

The  woman,  who  had  been  kneeling  all  the  while, 
crept  to  his  feet. 

"  My  lord  will  give  his  children  to  me,"  she  said  in 
a  low  voice. 

"  You !  "  he  cried,  drawing  back  from  her.  "  You ! 
What  could  you  do  for  them  ?  " 

"  I  could  die  for  them,"  she  said  simply,  "  and 
for  my  lord." 

"  For  me !  Ha !  "  His  voice  carried  unutterable 
scorn. 

She  cowered  back  to  the  floor. 

"  My  children  I  can  slay,  but  I  will  leave  them  in 
no  house  of  lust." 

"  Oh ! "  she  cried,  clasping  her  hands  upon  her 
breast  and  swaying  backwards  and  forwards  upon 
her  knees,  "  I  will  be  a  good  woman.  I  will  sin  no 
more.     Rosenblatt  I  shall  send  —  " 

"  Rosenblatt !  "  cried  the  man  with  a  fierce  laugh. 
"  After  two  days  Rosenblatt  will  not  be  here." 

"  You  will — ?  "  gasped  the  woman. 

"  He  will  die,"  said  the  man  quietly. 

"  Oh,  my  lord !  Let  me  kill  him !  It  would  be  easy 
for  me  at  night  when  he  sleeps.  But  you  they  will 
take  and  hang.  In  this  country  no  one  escapes.  Ohj 
Do  not  you  kill  him.     Let  me." 


THE   UNBIDDEN    GUEST  57 

Breathlessly  she  pleaded,  holding  him  by  the  feet. 
He  spumed  her  with  contempt. 

"  Peace,  fool !  He  is  for  none  other  than  me.  It 
is  an  old  score.  Ah,  yes,"  he  continued  between  his 
teeth,  "  it  is  an  old  score.  It  will  be  sweet  to  feel 
him  slowly  die  with  my  fingers  in  his  throat." 

"  But  they  will  take  you,"  cried  the  woman. 

"  Bah !  They  could  not  hold  me  in  Siberia,  and 
think  you  they  can  in  this  land?  But  the  children," 
he  mused.  "  Rosenblatt  away."  With  a  sudden  re- 
solve he  turned  to  the  woman.  "  Woman,"  he  said, 
in  a  voice  stem  and  low,  "  could  you  —  " 

She  threw  herself  once  more  at  his  feet  in  a  passion 
of  entreaty.  "  Oh,  my  lord !  Let  me  live  for  them, 
for  them  —  and  —  for  you !  " 

"  For  me?  "  he  said  coldly.  "  No.  You  have  dis- 
honoured my  name.  You  are  wife  of  mine  no  longer. 
Do  you  hear  this  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  she  panted,  "  I  hear.  I  know.  I  ask 
notliing  for  myself.  But  the  children,  your  children. 
I  would  live  for  them,  would  die  for  them !  " 

He  turned  from  her  and  gazed  through  the  window, 
pondering.  That  she  would  be  faithful  to  the  chil- 
dren he  well  knew.  That  she  would  gladly  die  for  him, 
he  was  equally  certain.  With  Rosenblatt  removed, 
the  house  would  be  rid  of  the  cause  of  her  fall  and 
her  shame.  There  was  no  one  else  in  this  strange 
land  to  whom  he  could  trust  his  children.  Should 
death  or  exile  take  him  in  his  work  —  and  these  were 


58  THE    FOREIGNER 

always  his  companions  —  his  children  would  be  quite 
alone.  Once  more  he  turned  and  looked  down  upon 
the  kneeling  woman.  He  had  no  love  for  her.  He 
had  never  loved  her.  Simply  as  a  matter  of  con- 
venience he  had  married  her,  that  she  might  care  for 
the  children  of  his  dead  wife  whom  he  had  loved  with 
undying  and  passionate  love. 

"  Paulina,"  he  said  solemnly,  but  the  contempt  was 
gone  from  his  voice,  "  you  are  henceforth  no  wife  of 
mine;   but  my  children  I  give  into  your  care." 

Hitherto,  during  the  whole  interview,  she  had 
shed  no  tear,  but  at  these  words  of  his  she  flung 
her  arms  about  his  knees  and  burst  into  a  passion 
of  weeping. 

"  Oh,  my  lord !  My  dear  lord !  Oh,  my  lord !  my 
lord !  "  she  sobbed,  wildly  kissing  his  very  boots. 

He  drew  away  from  her  and  sat  down  upon  a 
bench. 

"  Listen,"  he  said.  "  I  will  send  you  money.  You 
will  require  to  take  no  man  into  your  house  for  your 
support.  Is  there  any  one  to  whom  I  could  send  the 
money  for  you.''  " 

She  thought  for  a  few  moments. 

"  There  is  one,"  she  said,  "  but  she  does  not  love 
me.  She  will  come  no  longer  into  my  house.  She 
thinks  me  a  bad  woman."  Her  voice  sank  low.  Her 
face  flamed  a  dark  red. 

"  Aha,"  said  the  man,  "  I  would  see  that  woman. 
To-morrow  you  will  bring  me  to  her.     At  dusk  to- 


THE   UNBIDDEN   GUEST  5^ 

morrow  I  will  pass  your  house.  You  will  meet  me. 
Now  go." 

She  remained  kneeling  in  her  place.  Then  she 
crawled  nearer  his  feet. 

"  Oh,  my  lord !  "  she  sobbed,  "  I  have  done  wrong. 
Will  you  not  beat  me?  Beat  me  till  the  blood  i-uns 
down.  He  was  too  strong  for  me.  I  was  afraid  for 
the  children.  I  had  no  place  to  go.  I  did  a  great 
wrong.  If  my  lord  would  but  beat  me  till  the  blood 
runs  down,  it  would  be  a  joy  to  me." 

It  was  the  cry  of  justice  making  itself  heard 
through  her  dull  soul.  It  was  the  instinctive  demand 
for  atonement.  It  was  the  unconscious  appeal  for 
ranstatement  to  the  privileges  of  wifehood. 

"  Woman,"  he  said  sternly,  "  a  man  may  beat  his 
wife.  He  will  not  strike  a  woman  that  is  nothing  to 
him.     Go." 

Once  more  she  clutched  his  feet,  kissing  them. 
Then  she  rose  and  Avithout  a  word  went  out  into  the 
dusky  night.  She  had  entered  upon  the  rugged  path 
of  penitence,  the  only  path  to  peace  for  the  sinner. 

After  she  had  gone,  the  man  stepped  to  the  door 
and  looked  after  her  as  if  meditating  her  recall. 

"  Bah !  "  he  said  at  length,  "  she  is  nothing  to  me. 
Let  her  go." 

He  put  out  the  light,  closed  the  door  and  passing 
tkrough  the  crowd  of  revellers,  went  off  to  Simon's 
house. 


THE    FOREIGNER 


CHAPTER    V 


THE    PATRIOT  S    HEART 


THE  inside  of  Paulina's  house  was  a  wreck.  The 
remains  of  benches  and  chairs  and  tables 
mingled  with  fragments  of  vessels  of  different  sorts 
strewn  upon  the  filth-littered  floor,  the  windows 
broken,  the  door  between  the  outer  and  inner  rooms 
torn  from  its  hinges,  all  this  debris,  together  with 
the  battered,  bruised  and  bloody  human  shapes  lying 
amidst  their  filth,  gave  eloquent  testimony  to  the 
tempestuous  character  of  the  proceedings  of  the 
previous  night. 

The  scene  that  greeted  Paulina's  eyes  in  the  early 
grey  of  the  morning  might  well  have  struck  a  stouter 
heart  than  hers  with  dismay ;  for  her  house  had  the 
look  of  having  been  swept  by  a  tornado,  and  Paulina's 
heart  was  anything  but  stout  that  morning.  The 
sudden  appearance  of  her  husband  had  at  first 
stricken  her  with  horrible  fear,  the  fear  of  death; 
but  this  fear  had  passed  into  a  more  dreadful  horror, 
that  of  repudiation. 

Seven  years  ago,  when  Michael  Kalmar  had  conde- 
scended to  make   her  his   wife,   her  whole   soul  had 


THE   PATRIOT'S   HEART  81 

gone  forth  to  Iiim  in  a  passion  of  adoring  love  that 
had  invested  him  in  a  halo  of  glory.  He  became  her 
god  thenceforth  to  worship  and  to  serve.  Her  in- 
fidelity meant  no  diminution  of  this  passion.  With- 
drawn  from  her  husband's  influence,  left  without  any 
sign  of  his  existence  for  two  years  or  more,  subjected 
to  the  machinations  of  the  subtle  and  unscrupulous 
Rosenblatt,  the  soul  in  her  had  died,  the  animal  had 
lived  and  triumphed.  The  sound  of  her  husband's 
voice  last  night  had  summoned  into  vivid  life  her 
dead  soul.  Ker  god  had  moved  into  the  range  of  her 
vision,  and  immediately  she  was  his  again,  soul  and 
body.  Hence  her  sudden  fury  at  Rosenblatt;  hence, 
too,  the  utter  self-abandonment  in  her  appeal  to  her 
husband.  But  now  he  had  cast  her  off.  The  gates 
of  Heaven,  swinging  open  before  her  ravished  eyes 
for  a  few  brief  moments,  had  closed  to  her  forever. 
Small  wonder  that  she  brought  a  heavy  heart  to  the 
righting  of  her  disordered  home,  and  well  for  her 
that  Anka  with  her  hearty,  cheery  courage  stood  at 
her  side  that  morning. 

Together  they  set  themselves  to  clear  away  the 
filth  and  the  wreckage,  human  and  otherwise.  Of  the 
human  wreckage  Anka  made  short  work.  Stepping 
out  into  the  frosty  air,  she  returned  with  a  pall  of 
snow. 

"  Here,  you  sluggards,"  she  cried,  bestowing  gen- 
erous handfuls  upon  their  sodden  faces,  "  up  with  you, 
and  out.    The  day  is  fine  and  dinner  will  soon  be  here." 


«2  THE   FOREIGNER 

Grunting,  growling,  cursing,  the  men  rose, 
stretched  themselves  with  prodigious  yawning,  and 
bundled  cut  into  the  frosty  air. 

"  Get  yourselves  ready  for  dinner,"  cried  Anka 
after  them.  "  The  best  is  yet  to  come,  and  then  the, 
dance." 

Down  into  the  cellar  they  went,  stiff  and  sore  and 
still  growling,  dipped  their  hands  and  heads  into 
icy  water,  and  after  a  perfunctory  toilet  and  a  mug 
of  beer  or  two  all  round,  they  were  ready  for  a 
renewal  of  the  festivities.  There  was  no  breakfast, 
but  as  the  day  wore  on,  from  the  shacks  about  came 
women  with  provisions  for  the  renewal  of  the  feast. 
For  Anka,  wise  woman,  had  kept  some  of  the  more 
special  dishes  for  the  second  day.  But  as  for  the 
beer,  though  there  were  still  some  kegs  left,  they 
were  few  enough  to  give  Jacob  Wassyl  concern.  It 
would  be  both  a  misfortune  and  a  disgrace  if  the 
beer  should  fail  before  the  marriage  feast  was  over. 
The  case  was  serious  enough.  Jacob  Wassyl's  own 
money  was  spent,  the  guests  had  all  contributed  their 
share,  Rosenblatt  would  sooner  surrender  blood  than 
money,  and  Jacob  was  not  yet  sufficiently  established 
as  a  husband  to  appeal  to  liis  wife  for  further  help. 

It  was  through  Simon  Ketzel  that  deliverance 
came,  or  rather  through  Simon's  guest,  who,  learn- 
ing that  the  beer  was  like  to  fail,  passed  Simon  a  bill 
saying,  "  It  would  be  sad  if  disgrace  should  come 
to  your  friends.     Let  there  be  plenty  of  beer.     Buy 


THE   PATRIOT'S   HEART  63 

what  is  necessary  and  keep  the  rest  In  payment  for 
my  lodging.  And  of  my  part  in  this  not  a  word  to 
any  man." 

As  a  result,  in  the  late  afternoon  a  dray  load  of 
beer  kegs  appeared  at  Paulina's  back  door,  to  the 
unspeakable  rehef  of  Jacob  and  of  his  guests  as  well, 
who  had  begun  to  share  his  anxiety  and  to  look  for- 
ward to  an  evening  of  drouth  and  gloom. 

As  for  Simon  Ketzel,  he  found  himself  at  once  upon 
the  very  crest  of  a  wave  of  popularity,  for  through 
the  driver  of  the  dray  it  became  known  that  it  was 
Simon  that  had  come  so  splendidly  to  the  rescue. 

Relieved  of  anxiety,  the  revellers  gave  themselves 
with  fresh  and  reckless  zest  to  the  duty  of  assuring 
beyond  all  shadow  of  doubt,  the  good  health  of  the 
bride  and  the  groom,  and  of  every  one  in  general  In 
flowing  mugs  of  beer.  Throughout  the  afternoon, 
men  and  women,  and  even  boys  and  girls,  ate  and 
drank,  danced  and  sang  to  the  limit  of  their  abihty. 

As  the  evening  darkened,  and  while  this  carouse 
was  at  its  height,  Paulina,  with  a  shawl  over  her 
head,  slipped  out  of  the  house  and  through  the  crowd, 
and  so  on  to  the  outskirts  of  the  colony,  where  she 
found  her  husband  impatiently  waiting  her. 

"  You  are  late,"  he  said  harshly. 

"  I  could  not  find  Kalman." 

"  Kalman !  My  boy!  And  where  would  he  he?** 
exclaimed  her  husband  with  a  shade  of  anxiety  in  h\§ 
Toice. 


64  THE    FOREIGNER 

*'  He  was  with  me  in  the  house.  I  could  not  keep 
him  from  the  men,  and  they  will  give  him  beer." 

"Beer  to  that  child?  "  snarled  her  husband. 

"  Yes,  they  make  him  sing  and  dance,  and  they 
give  him  beer.     He  is  wonderful,"  said  Paulina. 

Even  as  she  spoke,  a  boy's  voice  rose  clear  and 
full  in  a  Hungarian  love  song,  to  the  wild  accom- 
paniment of  the  cymbal. 

"  Hush ! "  said  the  man  holding  up  his  hand. 

At  the  first  sound  of  that  high,  clear  voice,  the 
bacchanalian  shoutings  and  roarings  fell  silent,  and 
the  wild  weird  song,  throbbing  with  passion,  rose 
and  fell  upon  the  stiU  evening  air.  After  each 
verse,  the  whole  chorus  of  deep,  harsh  voices  swelled 
high  over  the  wailing  violins  and  Amud's  clanging 
cymbal. 

"  Good,"  muttered  the  man  when  the  song  had 
ceased.     "  Now  get  him." 

*'  I  shall  bring  him  to  yonder  house,"  said  Paulina, 
pointing  to  the  dwelling  of  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick,  whither 
in  a  few  minutes  she  was  seen  half  dragging,  half 
carrying  a  boy  of  eight,  who  kept  kicking  and 
scratching  vigorously,  and  pouring  forth  a  torrent 
of  English  oaths. 

*'Hush,  Kalman,"  said  Paulina  in  Galician,  vainly 
trying  to  quiet  the  child.  "  The  gentleman  will  be 
ashamed  of  you." 

'*  I  do  not  care  for  any  gentleman,"  screamed  Kal- 
man.    "  He  is  a  black  devil,"  glancing  at  the  black 


THE   PATRIOT'S   HEART  65 

bearded  man  who  stood  waiting  them  at  the  door  of 
the  Fitzpatrick  dwelling. 

"  Hush,  hush,  you  bad  boy !  *'  exclaimed  Paulina, 
horrified,  laying  her  hand  over  the  boy's  mouth. 

The  man  turned  his  back  upon  them,  pulled  off  his 
black  beard,  thrust  it  into  his  pocket,  gave  his  mus- 
taches a  quick  turn  and  faced  about  upon  them.  This 
transformation  froze  the  boy's  fury  into  silence.  He 
shrank  back  to  his  mother's  side. 

"Is  it  the  devil .-^  "  he  whispered  to  his  mother  ini 
Galician. 

"  Kalman,"  said  the  man  quietly,  in  the  Russian 
language,  "  come  to  me.     I  am  your  father." 

The  boy  gazed  at  him  fearful  and  perplexed. 

"  He  does  not  understand,"  said  Paulina  in 
Russian. 

"  Kalman,"  repeated  liis  father,  using  the  Gali- 
cian speech,  '"  come  to  me.     I  am  your  father." 

The  boy  hesitated,  looking  fixedly  at  his  father. 
But  three  years  had  wiped  out  the  memory  of  that 
face. 

"  Come,  you  little  Cossack,"  said  his  father,  smil- 
ing at  him.  "  Come,  have  you  forgotten  all  your 
rides  ?  " 

The  boy  suddenly  started,  as  if  waking  from  sleep. 
The  words  evidently  set  the  grey  matter  moving 
along  old  brain  tracks.  He  walked  toward  his  father, 
took  the  hand  outstretched  to  him,  and  kissed  it 
again  and  again. 

t 


66  THE   FOREIGNER 

"  Aha,  my  son,  you  remember  me,"  said  the  father 
exultantly. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  boy  in  EngHsh,  "  I  remember  the 
ride  on  the  black  horse." 

The  man  lifted  the  boy  in  his  strong  arms,  kissed 
him  again  and  again,  then  setting  him  down  said  to 
Paulina,  "  Let  us  go  in." 

Paulina  stepped  forward  and  knocked  at  the  door. 
Mrs.  Fitzpatrick  answered  the  knock  and,  seeing 
Paulina,  was  about  to  shut  the  door  upon  her  face, 
when  Paulina  put  up  her  hand. 

"  Look,"  she  cried,  pointing  to  the  man,  who  stood 
back  in  the  shadow,  "  Irma  fadder." 

"  What  d'ye   say.? "   enquired   Mrs.    Fitzpatrick. 

"  Irma  fadder,"  repeated  Paulina,  pointing  to 
Kalmar. 

"  Is  my  daughter  Irma  in  your  house  ?  "  said  he, 
stepping  forward. 

"  Yer  daughter,  is  it.?"  said  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick, 
looking  sharply  into  the  foreigner's  face.  "  An'  if 
she 's  yer  daughter  it 's  yersilf  that  should  be 
ashamed  av  it  fer  the  way  ye've  desarted  the  lot  o* 
thim." 

"  Is  it  permitted  that  I  see  my  daughter  Irma.?  " 
said  the  man  quietly. 

Mrs.  Fitzpatrick  scanned  his  face  suspiciously, 
then  called,  "  Irma  darlin',  come  here  an'  tell  me  who 
this  is.    Give  the  babby  to  Tim  there,  an'  come  away." 

A  girl  of  between  eleven  and  twelve,  tall  for  her 


THE   PATRIOT'S   HEART  67 

age,  with  pale  face,  two  thick  braids  of  yellow  hair, 
and  wonderful  eyes  "  burnin'  brown,"  as  Mrs.  Fitz- 
patrick  said,  came  to  the  door  and  looked  out  upon 
the  man.  For  some  time  they  gazed  steadily  each 
into  the  other's  face. 

"  Irma,  my  child,"  said  Kalmar  in  English,  "  you 
know  me.?  " 

But  the  girl  stood  gazing  in  perplexity. 

"  Irma !  Child  of  my  soul !  "  cried  the  man,  in 
the  Russian  tongue,  "  do  you  not  remember  your 
father  ?  "  He  stepped  from  the  shadow  to  where  the 
light  from  the  open  door  could  fall  upon  his  face  and 
stood  with  arms  outstretched. 

At  once  the  girl's  face  changed,  and  with  a  cry, 
"  It  is  my  fadder !  "  she  threw  herself  at  him. 

Her  father  caught  her  and  held  her  fast,  saying 
not  a  word,  but  covering  her  face  with  kisses. 

"  Come  in,  come  in  to  the  warm,"  cried  the  kind- 
hearted  Irish  woman,  wiping  her  eyes.  "  Come  in 
out  o'  the  cold."  And  with  eager  hospitality  she 
hurried  the  father  and  children  into  the  house. 

As  they  passed  in,  Paulina  turned  away.  Before 
Mrs.  Fitzpatrick  shut  the  door,  Irma  caught  her 
arm  and  whispered  in  her  ear. 

"  Paulina,  is  it  ?  Let  her  shtop  —  "  She  paused, 
looking  at  the  Russian. 

*'  Your  pardon  ?  "  he  enquired  with  a  bow. 

"  It 's  Paulina,"  said  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick,  her  voice 
carrying  the  full  measure  of  her  contempt  for  the  un-* 


68  THE   FOREIGNER 

happy  creature  who  stood  half  turning  away  from 
the  door. 

"  Ah,  let  her  go.  It  is  no  difference.  She  is  a  sow. 
Let  her  go." 

"Thin  she's  not  your  wife  at  all?"  said  Mrs. 
Fitzpatrick,  her  wrath  rising  at  this  discovery  of 
further  deception  in  PauHna. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  She  was  once.  1 
married  her.     She  is  wife  no  longer.     Let  her  go." 

His  contemptuous  indifference  turned  Mrs.  Fita- 
patrick's  wrath  upon  liim. 

"  An'  it 's  yersilf  that  ought  to  take  shame  to  yer- 
silf  f er  the  way  ye  've  treated  her,  an'  so  ye  should !  " 

The  man  waved  liis  hand  as  if  to  brush  aside  a 
matter  of  quite  trifling  moment. 

"  It  matters  not,"  he  repeated.  "  She  is  only  a 
cow." 

"  Let  her  come  in,"  whispered  Irma,  laying  her 
hand  again  on  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick's  arm. 

"  Sure  she  will,"  cried  the  Irish  woman ;  "  come 
in  here,  you  poor,  spiritless  craythur." 

Irma  sprang  down  the  steps,  spoke  a  few  hurried 
words  in  Galician.  Poor  Paulina  hesitated,  her  eyes 
upon  her  husband's  face.  He  made  a  contemptuous 
motion  with  his  hand  as  if  calling  a  dog  to  heel.  Im- 
mediately, like  a  dog,  the  woman  crept  in  and  sat  far 
away  from  the  fire  in  a  corner  of  the  room. 

*'  Ye  '11  pardon  me,"  said  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick  to 
Kalmar,  "  f  er  not  axin'  ye  in  at  the  first ;  but  indade. 


THE   PATRIOT'S   HEART  69 

an*  it 's  more  your  blame  than  mine,  fer  sorra  a  bit 
o'  thim  takes  afther  ye." 

"They  do  not  resemble  me,  you  mean?"  said  the 
father.  "  No,  they  are  the  likeness  of  their  mother." 
As  he  spoke  he  pulled  out  a  leather  case,  opened  it 
and  passed  it  to  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick. 

"  Aw,  will  ye  look  at  that  now !  "  she  cried,  gazing 
at  the  beautiful  miniature.  "  An'  the  purty  face  av 
her.  Sure,  it 's  a  rale  queen  she  was,  an'  that 's  no 
lie.  An'  the  girl  is  goin'  to  be  the  very  spit  av  her. 
An'  the  bye,  he  's  got  her  blue  eyes  an'  her  bright 
hair.  It 's  aisy  seen  where  they  git  their  looks,"  she 
added,  glancing  at  him. 

"  Mind  yer  manners,  now  thin,"  growled  Tim,  who 
was  very  considerably  impressed  by  the  military 
carriage  and  the  evident  "  quality "  of  their 
guest. 

"  Yes,  the  children  have  the  likeness  of  their 
mother,"  said  the  father  in  a  voice  soft  and  reminis- 
cent. "  It  is  in  their  behalf  I  am  here  to-night, 
Madam  —  what  shall  I  have  the  honour  to  name 
you?" 

"Me  name,  is  it?"  cried  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick. 
"  Mishtress  Timothy  Fitzpatrick,  Monaghan  that 
was,  the  Monaghans  o'  Ballinghalereen,  an  owld  fam- 
ily, poor  as  Job's  turkey,  but  proud  as  the  divil,  an' 
wance  the  glory  o'  Mayo.  An'  this,"  she  added,  in- 
'dicating  her  spouse  with  a  jerk  of  her  thumb,  "is 
Timothy  Fitzpatrick,  me  husband,  a  dacent  man  m 


fO  THE   FOREIGNER 

his  way.  Timothy,  where  's  yer  manners  ?  Shtand 
up  an'  do  yer  duty." 

Tim  struggled  to  his  feet,  embarrassed  with  the 
burden  of  Pauhna's  baby,  and  pulled  his  forelock, 

"  And  my  name,"  said  the  Russian,  answering 
Timothy's  salutation  with  a  profound  bow,  "  is 
Michael  Kalmar,  with  respect  to  you  and  Mr. 
yichpatrick." 

Mrs.  Fitzpatrick  was  evidently  impressed. 

"  An'  proud  I  am  to  see  ye  in  me  house,"  she  said, 
answering  his  bow  with  a  curtsey.  "  Tim,  ye  owl 
ye !  Why  don't  ye  hand  his  honour  a  chair.?  Did  ye 
niver  git  the  air  o'  a  gintleman  before.''  " 

It  took  some  minutes  to  get  the  company  settled. 
Giving  to  the  reluctance  of  the  Russian  to  seat  himself 
while  the  lady  was  standing,  and  the  equal  reluctance 
of  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick  to  take  her  seat  until  she  had 
comfortably  settled  her  guest. 

"  I  come  to  you,  Mrs.  Vichpatrick,  on  behalf  of 
my  children." 

"  An'  fine  childer  they  are,  barrin'  the  lad  is  a  bit 
av  a  limb  betimes." 

In  courteous  and  carefully  studied  English,  Kal- 
mar told  his  need.  His  affairs  called  him  to  Europe. 
He  might  be  gone  a  year,  perhaps  more.  He  needed 
some  one  to  care  for  his  children.  Paulina,  though 
nothing  to  him  now,  would  be  faithful  in  caring  for 
them,  as  far  as  food,  clothing  and  shelter  were  con- 
cerned.   She  would  dismiss  her  boarders.     There  had 


THE   PATRIOT'S   HEART  71 

never  been  need  of  her  taking  boarders,  but  for  the 
fraud  of  a  wicked  man.  It  was  at  this  point  that  he 
needed  help.  Would  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick  permit  him  to 
send  her  money  from  time  to  time  which  should  be 
applied  to  the  support  of  Paulina  and  the  children. 
He  would  also  pay  her  for  her  trouble. 

At  this  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick,  who  had  been  listening 
impatiently  for  some  moments,  broke  forth  upon  him. 

"  Ye  can  kape  yer  money,"  she  cried  wrathfully. 
"  What  sort  av  a  man  are  ye,  at  all,  at  all,  that  ye 
sind  yer  helpless  childer  to  a  strange  land  with  a  scut 
like  that.?" 

"  Paulina  was  an  honest  woman  once,"  he  inter- 
posed. 

"  An'  what  for,"  she  continued  wrathfully,  "  are 
ye  lavin'  thim  now  among  a  pack  o'  haythen.?  Look 
at  that  girl  now,  what  '11  come  to  her  in  that  bloody 
pack  o'  thieves  an'  blackguards,  d'  ye  think.?  Howly 
Joseph !  It 's  mesilf  that  kapes  wakin'  benights  to 
listen  fer  the  screams  av  her.  Why  don't  ye  shtay^ 
like  a  man  by  yer  childer  an'  tell  me  that?  " 

"  ]My  affairs  —  "  began  the  Russian,  with  a  touch 
of  hauteur  in  his  tone. 

"  An'  what  affairs  have  ye  need-in'  ye  more  than  yer 
childer.?     Tell  me  that,  will  ye.?  " 

And  truth  to  tell,  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick's  indignation 
blazed  forth  not  only  on  behalf  of  the  children,  but 
on  behalf  of  the  unfortunate  Paulina  as  well,  whom, 
in  spite  of  herself,  she  pitied. 


72  THE   FOREIGNER 

"  What  sort  av  a  heart  have  ye,  at  all,  at  all?  " 

"  A  heart !  "  cried  the  Russian,  rising  from  his 
chair.  *'  Madam,  my  heart  is  for  my  country.  But 
you  would  not  understand.     My  country  calls  me." 

"  Yer  counthry !  "  repeated  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick  with 
scorn.     "  An'  what  counthry  is  that.?  " 

"  Russia,"  said  the  man  with  dignity,  "  my  native 
land." 

^'  Rooshia !  An'  a  bloody  country  it  is,"  answered 
Mrs.  Fitzpatrick  with  scorn. 

"  Yes,  Russia,"  he  cried,  "  my  bloody  country ! 
You  are  correct.  Red  with  the  blood  of  my  country- 
men, the  blood  of  my  kindred  this  hundred  years  and 
more."  His  voice  was  low  but  vibrant  with  passion. 
**  You  cannot  understand.     Why  should  I  tell  you.?  " 

At  this  juncture  Timothy  sprang  to  his  feet. 

*'  Sit  ye  down,  dear  man,  sit  ye  down !  Shut  yer 
clapper,  Nora !  Sure  it 's  mesilf  that  knows  a  pay- 
thriot  whin  I  sees  'im.  Tear-an-ages !  Give  me  yer 
hand,  me  boy.  Sit  ye  do^vn  an'  tell  us  about  it. 
We  're  all  the  same  kind  here.  Niver  fear  for  the 
woman,  she  's  the  worst  o'  the  lot.  Tell  us,  dear  man. 
Be  the  light  that  shines !  it 's  mesilf  that 's  thirsty 
to  hear." 

The  Russian  gazed  at  the  shining  eyes  of  the  little 
Irishman  as  if  he  had  gone  mad.  Then,  as  if  the 
light  had  broken  upon  him,  he  cried,  "  Aha,  you  are 
of  Ireland.     You,  too,  are  fighting  the  tyrant." 

"  Hooray,  me  boy !  "  shouted  Tim,  "  an'  it 's  the 


THE   PATRIOT'S   HEART  73 

thrue  word  yc  've  shpoke,  an'  niver  a  lie  in  the  skin 
av  it.  Oireland  foriver!  Be  the  howly  St,  Patrick 
an'  all  the  saints,  I  am  wid  ye  an'  agin  ivery  govern- 
ment that 's  iver  robbed  an  honest  man.  Go  on,  me 
boy,  tell  us  yer  tale." 

Timothy  was  undoubtedly  excited.  The  traditions 
of  a  hundred  years  of  fierce  rebellion  against  the 
oppression  of  the  "  bloody  tyrant "  were  beating  at 
his  brain  and  in  his  heart.  The  Russian  caught  fire 
from  him  and  launched  forth  upon  his  tale.  For  a 
full  hour,  now  sitting  in  his  chair,  now  raging  up  and 
down  the  room,  now  in  a  voice  deep,  calm  and  ter- 
rible, now  broken  and  hoarse  with  sobs,  he  recounted 
deeds  of  blood  and  fire  that  made  Ireland's  struggle 
and  Ireland's  wrongs  seem  nursery  rhymes, 

Timothy  listened  to  the  terrible  stoi-y  in  an  ecstasy 
of  alternating  joy  and  fury,  according  to  the  nature 
of  the  episode  related.  It  was  like  living  again  the 
glorious  days  of  the  moonlighters  and  the  rackrenters 
in  dear  old  Ireland.  The  tale  came  to  an  abrupt 
end. 

"  An'  thin  what  happened.''  "  cried  Timothy. 

"  Then,"  said  the  Russian  quietly,  "  then  it  was 
Siberia." 

"  Siberia !  The  Hivins  be  about  us  !  "  said  Tim  in 
an  awed  voice.     "  But  ye  got  away-f*  " 

I"  I  am  here,"  he  replied  simply, 

"  Be  the  sowl  of  Moses,  ye  are !  An'  wud  ye  go 
back  agin.'*  "  cried  Tim  in  horror. 


74  THE   FOREIGNER 

*'  Wud  he ! "  said  Nora,  with  ineffable  scorn. 
"  Wud  a  herrin'  swim  ?  By  coorse  he  'II  go  back.  An' 
what 's  more,  ye  can  sind  the  money  to  me  an'  I  '11 
see  that  the  childer  gets  the  good  av  it,  if  I  've  to 
wring  the  neck  av  that  black  haythen,  Rosenblatt, 
like  a  chicken." 

"  You  will  take  the  money  for  my  children  ?  "  en- 
quired the  Russian. 

"  I  will  that." 
He  stretched  out  his  hand  impulsively.  She  placed 
hers  in  it.  He  raised  it  to  his  lips,  bending  low  as 
if  it  had  been  the  lily  white  hand  of  the  fairest  lady 
in  the  land,  instead  of  the  fat,  rough,  red  hand  of 
an  old  Irish  washer-woman. 

"  Sure,  it 's  mighty  bad  taste  ye  have,"  said  Tim 
with  a  sly  laugh.    "  It 's  not  her  hand  I  'd  be  kissin'." 

"  Bad  luck  to  ye !  Have  ye  no  manners  ?  "  said 
Nora,  jerking  away  her  hand  in  confusion. 

"  I  thank  you  with  all  my  heart,"  said  Kalmar, 
gravely  bowing  with  his  hand  upon  his  heart.  "  And 
will  you  now  and  then  look  over  —  overlook  —  over- 
see—  ah  yes,  oversee  this  little  girl?  " 

"  Listen  to  me  now,"  cried  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick. 
"  Can  she  clear  out  thim  men  from  her  room?  "  nod- 
ding her  head  toward  Paulina. 

"  There  will  be  no  men  in  her  house." 

"  Can  she  kape  thim  out  ?  She  's  only  a  wake 
craythur  anyway." 

"  Paulina,"  said  her  husband. 


THE   PATRIOT'S   HEART  75 

She  came  forward  and,  taking  his  hand,  kissed  it, 
Mrs.  Fitzpatrick  looking  on  in  disgust. 

"  This  woman  asks  can  you  keep  the  men  out  of 
your  room,"  he  said  in  Gahcian. 

"  I  will  keep  them  out,"  she  said  simply. 

"Aye,  but  can  she.?"  said  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick,  to 
whom  her  answer  had  been  translated. 

"  I  can  kill  them  in  the  night,"  said  Paulina,  in  a 
voice  of  quiet  but  concentrated  passion. 

"  The  saints  in  Hivin  be  above  us !  I  belave  her," 
said  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick,  with  a  new  respect  for  Pau- 
lina. "  But  fer  the  love  o'  Hivin,  tell  her  there  is 
no  killin'  in  this  counthry,  an'  more  's  the  pity  when 
ye  see  some  men  that's  left  to  run  about." 

"  She  will  keep  the  children  safe  with  her  life," 
said  Kalmar.  "  She  had  no  money  before,  and  she 
was  told  I  was  dead.  But  it  matters  not.  She  is 
nothing  to  me.  But  she  will  keep  my  children  with 
her  hfe." 

His  trust  in  her,  his  contempt  for  her,  awakened  in 
Mrs.  Fitzpatrick  a  kind  of  hostility  toAvard  him,  and 
of  pity  for  the  wretched  woman  whom,  while  he 
trusted,  he  so  despised. 

"  Come  an'  take  an  air  o'  the  fire,  Paulina,"  she 
said  not  unkindly.     "  It 's  cold  forninst  the  door." 

Paulina,  while  she  understood  not  the  words, 
caught  the  meaning  of  the  gesture,  but  especially  of 
the  tone.  She  drew  near,  caught  the  Irish  woman's 
hand  in  hers  and  kissed  it. 


76  THE   FOREIGNER 

"  Hut !  "  said  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick,  drawing  aw^ay  hei 
hand.     "  Sit  down,  will  ye?  " 

The  Russian  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  I  must  now  depart.  I  have  still  a  little  work  to 
accomplish.  To-morrow  I  leave  the  city.  Permit  m« 
now  to  bid  my  children  farewell." 

He  turned  to  the  girl,  who  held  Paulina's  baby 
asleep  in  her  arms.  "  Irma,"  he  said  in  Russian,  "  I 
am  going  to  leave  you." 

The  girl  rose,  placed  the  sleeping  baby  on  the  bed, 
and  coming  to  her  father's  side,  stood  looking  up 
into  liis  face,  her  "onderful  brown  eyes  shining  with 
tears  she  was  too  brave  to  shed. 

He  drew  her  to  him. 

"  I  am  going  to  leave  you,"  he  repeated  in  Rus- 
sian. "  In  one  year,  if  all  is  well,  at  most  in  two, 
I  shall  return.  You  know  I  cannot  stay  with  you, 
and  you  know  why."  He  took  the  miniature  from  hij* 
pocket  and  opening  it,  held  it  before  her  face. 
"  Your  mother  gave  her  Hfe  for  her  country."  For 
some  moments  he  gazed  upon  the  beautiful  face  ia 
the  miniature.  "  She  was  a  lady,  and  feared  not 
death.  Ah !  ah !  such  a  death ! "  He  struggled 
fiercely  with  his  emotions.  "  She  was  willing  to 
die.  Should  not  I?  You  do  not  grudge  that  I 
should  leave  you,  that  I  should  die,  if  need  be?  " 
An  anxious,  almost  wistful  tone  crept  into  hi» 
voice. 
Bravely  the  little  girl  looked  up  mto  the  dark  face. 


THE   PATRIOT'S   HEART  77 

"  I  remember  my  mother,"  she  said ;  "  I  vrould  be 
like  her." 

"  Aha ! "  cried  her  father,  catching  her  to  his 
breast,  "I  judged  you  rightly.  You  are  her 
daughter,  and  you  will  live  worthy  of  her.  Kalman, 
come  hither.  Irma,  you  will  care  for  your  brother. 
He  is  young.  He  is  a  boy.  He  will  need  care.  Kal- 
man,  heart  of  my  life !  " 

"  He  does  not  understand  Russian,"  said  Paulina. 
"  Speak  in  GaHcian." 

"  Ha,"  cried  the  man,  turning  sharply  upon  hei 
as  if  he  had  forgotten  her  existence.  "  Kalman,  my 
son,"  he  proceeded  in  Russian,  "  did  you  not  under- 
stand what  I  said  to  your  sister  ?  " 

«  Not  well,  father,"  said  the  boy ;    "  a  little." 

"  Alas,  that  you  should  have  forgotten  your 
mother's  speech !  " 

"  I  shall  learn  it  again  from  Irma,"  said  the 
boy. 

"  Good,"  replied  the  father  in  Galician.  "  Listen 
tlien.  Never  forget  you  are  a  Russian.  This,"  put- 
ting the  miniature  before  him,  "  was  your  mother. 
She  was  a  lady.  For  her  country  she  gave  up  rank, 
wealth,  home  and  at  last  life.  For  her  country,  too. 
I  go  back  again.  When  my  work  is  done  I  shall 
return." 

Through  the  window  came  sounds  of  revelry  from 
the  house  near  by. 

"  You  are  not  of  these  cattle,"  he  said,  pointing 


78  THE   FOREIGNER 

through  the  window.  "  Your  mother  was  a  lady^ 
Be  worthy  of  her,  boy.     Now  farewell." 

The  boy  stood  without  word,  without  motion,  with- 
out tear,  his  light  blue  eyes  fixed  upon  his  father's 
face,  his  fair  skin  white  but  for  a  faint  spot  of  red 
on  his  cheek. 

"  Obey  your  sister,  Kalman,  and  defend  her.  And 
listen,  boy."  His  voice  deepened  into  a  harsh  snarl, 
his  fingers  sank  into  the  boy's  shoulder,  but  the  boy 
winced  not.  "  If  any  man  does  her  wrong,  you  will 
kill  him.     Say  it,  boy.''     What  will  you  do.''  " 

"  Kill  him,"  said  the  boy  with  fierce  promptitude, 
speaking  In  the  English  tongue. 

"  Ha !  yes,"  replied  his  father  In  English,  "  you 
bear  your  mother's  face,  her  golden  hair,  her  eyes 
of  blue  —  they  are  not  so  beautiful  —  but  you  have 
your  father's  spirit.  You  would  soon  learn  to  kill 
in  Russia,  but  in  this  land  you  will  not  kill  unless  to 
defend  your  sister  from  wrong." 

His  mood  swiftly  changed.  He  paused,  looking 
sadly  at  his  children ;  then  turning  to  Mrs.  Fitz- 
patrlck  he  said,  "  They  should  go  to  the  public 
school  like  Simon  Ketzel's  little  girl.  They  speak 
not  such  good  English  as  she.     She  is  very  clever." 

**  Sure,  they  must  go  to  school,"  said  she.  "  An' 
go  they  will." 

"  My  gratitude  will  be  with  you  foreveiv 
Good-by." 

He  shook  hands  with  Timothy,  then  with  Mrsu 


THE   PATRIOT'S   HEART  79 

Fitzpatrick,  kissing  her  hand  as  well.  He  motioned 
his  children  toward  him. 

"  Heart  of  my  heart,"  he  murmured  in  a  broken 
voice,  straining  his  daughter  to  his  breast.  "  God, 
if  God  there  be,  and  all  the  saints,  if  saints  there  be, 
have  you  in  their  keeping.  Kalman,  my  son,"  throw- 
ing one  arm  about  him,  "Farewell!  farewell!"  He 
was  fast  losing  control  of  himself.  The  stormy 
Slavic  passions  were  threatening  to  burst  all  re- 
straint. "  I  give  you  to  each  other.  But  you  will 
remember  that  it  was  not  for  my  sake,  but  for 
Russia's  sake,  I  leave  you.  My  heart,  my  heart  be- 
longs to  you,  but  my  heart's  heart  is  not  for  me,  nor 
for  you,  but  for  Russia,  for  your  mother's  land  and 
ours." 

By  this  time  tears  were  streaming  down  his  cheek. 
Sobs  shook  his  pov/erful  frame.  Irma  was  clinging 
to  him  in  an  abandonment  of  weeping.  Kalman  stood 
holding  tight  to  his  father,  rigid,  tearless,  white. 
At  length  the  father  tore  away  their  hands  and  once 
more  crying  "  Farewell !  "  made  toward  the  door. 

At  this  the  boy  broke  forth  in  a  loud  cry,  "  Father  1 
My  father !  Take  me  with  you  !  I  would  not  fear ! 
I  would  not  fear  to  die.  Take  me  to  Russia !  "  The 
boy  ran  after  his  father  and  clutched  him  hard. 

"  Ah,  my  lad,  you  are  your  mother's  son  and  mine. 
Some  day  you  may  go  back.  Who  knows?  But — ■ 
no,  no.  Canada  is  your  country.  Go  back."  The 
lad    still    clutched    him.      "  Boy,"    said    his    father. 


80  THE   FOREIGNER 

steadying  his  voice  with  great  effort  and  speakinji 
quietly,  "  with  us,  in  our  coimtry,  we  learn  firsts 
obedience." 

The  lad  dropped  his  hold. 

*'  Good ! "  said  the  father.  "  You  are  my  own  son. 
You  will  yet  be  a  man.    And  now  farewell." 

He  kissed  them  again.  The  boy  broke  into  pas- 
sionate sobbing.  Paulina  came  forward  and,  kneel- 
ing at  the  father's  feet,  put  her  face  to  the  floor. 

"  I  will  care  for  the  son  of  my  lord,"  she  murmured. 

But  with  never  a  look  at  her,  the  father  strode  to 
the  door  and  passed  out  into  the  night. 

"Be  the  howly  prophet!"  cried  Tim,  wiping  his 
eyes,  "  it 's  harrd,  it 's  harrd !  An'  it 's  the  heart 
av  a  paythriot  the  lad  carries  inside  av  him!  An' 
may  Hivin  be  about  him ! " 


THE    FOREIGNER  81 


CHAPTER   VI 

THE    GRIP    OF    BRITISH    LAW 

IT  was  night  in  Winnipeg,  a  night  of  such  radiant 
moonlight  as  is  seen  only  in  northern  climates 
and  in  winter  time.  During  the  early  evening  a  light 
snow  had  fallen,  not  driving  fiercely  after  the  Mani- 
toba manner,  but  gently,  and  so  lay  like  a  fleecy, 
shimmering  mantle  over  all  things. 

Under  this  fleecy  mantle,  shimmering  with  myriad 
gems,  lay  Winnipeg  asleep.  Up  from  five  thousand 
chimneys  rose  straight  into  the  still  frosty  air  five 
thousand  columns  of  smoke,  in  token  that,  though 
frost  was  king  outside,  the  good  folk  of  Winnipeg 
lay  snug  and  warm  in  their  virtuous  beds.  Every- 
where the  white  streets  lay  in  silence  except  for  the 
passing  of  a  belated  cab  with  creaking  runners  and 
jingling  bells,  and  of  a  sleighing  party  returning 
from  Silver  Heights,  their  four-horse  team  smoking, 
their  sleigh  bells  ringing  out,  carrying  with  them 
hoarse  laughter  and  hoarser  songs,  for  the  frosty 
air  works  mischief  with  the  vocal  chords,  and  leav- 
ing behind  them  silence  again. 

All  through  Fort  Rouge,  lying  among  its  snow- 
laden  trees,  across  the  frost-bound  Assiniboine,  all 


82  THE   FOREIGNER 

through  the  Hudson's  Bay  Reserve,  there  was  no  sign 
of  hfe,  for  it  was  long  past  midnight.  Even  Main 
Street,  that  most  splendid  of  ail  Canadian  thorough- 
fares, lay  white  and  spotless  and,  for  the  most  part, 
in  silence.  Here  and  there  men  in  furs  or  in  frieze 
coats  with  collars  turned  up  high,  their  eyes  peering 
through  frost-rimmed  eyelashes  and  over  frost- 
rimmed  coat  collars,  paced  comfortably  along  if  in 
furs,  or  walked  hurriedly  if  only  in  frieze,  whither 
their  business  or  their  pleasure  led. 

Near  the  northern  limits  of  the  city  the  signs  of 
life  were  more  in  evidence.  At  the  Canadian  Pacific 
Railway  station  an  engine,  hoary  with  frozen  steam, 
puffed  contentedly  as  if  conscious  of  sufficient 
strength  for  the  duty  that  lay  before  it,  waiting  to 
hook  on  to  Number  Two,  nine  hours  late,  and  whirl 
it  eastward  in  full  contempt  of  frost  and  snow  bank 
and  blizzard. 

Inside  the  station  a  railway  porter  or  two  drowsed 
on  the  benches.  Behind  the  wicket  where  the  tele- 
graph instruments  kept  up  an  incessant  clicking,  the 
agent  and  his  assistant  sat  alert,  coming  forward 
now  and  then  to  answer,  with  the  unwearying  cour- 
tesy wliich  is  part  of  their  equipment  and  of  their 
training,  the  oft  repeated  question  from  impatient 
and  sleepy  travellers,  "How  is  she  now.^^ "  "An 
hour,"  "  half  an  hour,"  finally  "  fifteen  minutes," 
then  "any  time  now."  At  which  cheering  report 
the   uninitiated  brightened   up    and   passed   out   to 


THE    GRIP   OF   BRITISH   LAW  83 

listen  for  the  rumble  of  the  approaching  train.  The 
more  experienced,  however,  settled  down  for  another 
half  hour's  sleep. 

It  was  a  wearisom.e  business,  and  to  none  more 
wearisome  than  to  Interpreter  Elex  Murchuk,  part 
of  whose  duty  it  is  to  be  in  attendance  on  the  arrival 
of  all  incoming  trains  in  case  that  some  pilgrim  from 
Central  and  Southern  Europe  might  be  in  need  of 
direction.  For  Murchuk,  a  little  borderland  Russian, 
boasts  the  gift  of  tongues  to  an  extraordinary  de- 
gree. Russian,  in  which  he  was  born,  and  French, 
and  German,  and  Italian,  of  course,  he  knows,  but 
Polish,  Ruthenian,  and  all  varieties  of  Ukranian 
speech  are  alike  known  to  him. 

"  I  spik  all  European  language  good,  jus'  same 
Angleesh,"  was  his  testimony  in  regard  to  himself. 

As  the  whistle  of  the  approaching  train  was  heard. 
Sergeant  Cameron  strolled  into  the  station  house, 
carrying  his  six  feet  two  and  his  two  hundred  pounds 
of  bone  and  muscle  with  the  light  and  easy  move- 
ments of  the  winner  of  many  a  Caledonian  Society 
medal.  Cameron,  at  one  time  a  full  private  in  the 
78th  Highlanders,  is  now  Sergeant  in  the  Winnipeg 
City  Police,  and  not  asliamed  of  his  job.  Big,  calm, 
good-tempered,  devoted  to  his  duty,  keen  for  the 
honour  of  the  force  as  he  had  been  for  the  honour 
of  his  regiment  in  other  days,  Sergeant  Cameron  was 
known  to  all  good  citizens  as  an  officer  to  bo  trusted 
and  to  all  others  as  a  man  to  be  feared. 


84  THE   FOREIGNER 

Just  at  present  he  was  finishing  up  his  round  of 
inspection.  After  the  train  had  pulled  in  he  would 
go  on  duty  as  patrohnan,  in  the  place  of  Officer  Don- 
nelly, who  was  down  with  pneumonia.  The  Winni- 
peg Pohce  Force  was  woefully  inadequate  in  point  of 
strength,  there  being  no  spare  men  for  emergencies, 
and  hence  Sergeant  Cameron  found  it  necessary  to 
do  double  duty  that  night,  and  he  was  prepared  to  do 
it  without  grumbling,  too.  Long  watches  and  weary 
marches  were  nothing  new  to  him,  and  furthermore, 
to-night  there  was  especial  reason  why  he  was  not 
unwilling  to  take  a  walk  through  the  north  end. 
Headquarters  had  been  kept  fully  informed  of  the 
progress  of  a  wedding  feast  of  more  than  ordinary 
hilarity  in  the  foreign  colony.  This  was  the  second 
night,  and  on  second  nights  the  general  joyousness 
of  the  festivities  was  more  than  likely  to  become 
unduly  exuberant.  Indeed,  the  reports  of  the  early 
evening  had  been  somewhat  disquieting,  and  hence. 
Sergeant  Cameron  was  rather  pleased  than  not  that 
Officer  Donnelly's  beat  lay  in  the  direction  of  the 
foreign  colony. 

At  length  Number  Two  rolled  in,  a  double  header, 
one  engine  alive  and  one  dead,  but  both  swathed  in 
snow  and  frozen  steam  from  cowcatcher  to  tender, 
the  first  puffing  its  proud  triumph  over  the  opposing 
elements,  the  second  silent,  cold  and  lifeless  hke  a 
warrior  borne  from  the  field  of  battle. 

The  passengers,  weary  and   full  of  the  mild  ex- 


THE    GRIP   OF   BRITISH   LAW  85 

citement  of  their  long  struggle  with  storm  and  drift 
across  half  a  continent,  emerged  from  their  snow-clad 
but  very  comfortable  coaches  and  were  eagerly  taken 
in  charge  by  waiting  friends  and  watchful  hotel 
runners. 

Sergeant  Cameron  waited  till  the  crowd  had  gone, 
and  then  turning  to  Murchuk,  he  said,  "  You  will  be 
coming  along  with  me,  Murchuk.  I  am  going  to 
look  after  some  of  your  friends," 

"  My  f  rients .''  "  enquired  Murchuk. 

"Yes,  over  at  the  colony  yonder." 

"  My  f  rients !  "  repeated  IVIurchuk  with  some  in- 
dignation. "  Not  motch !  "  Murchuk  was  proud  of 
his  official  position  as  Dominion  Government  Inter- 
preter. "  But  I  will  go  wit'  you.  It  is  my 
way." 

Away  from  the  noise  of  the  puffing  engines  and  the 
creaking  car  wheels,  the  ears  of  Sergeant  Cameron 
and  his  friend  were  assailed  by  other  and  less  cheerful 
sounds. 

"  Will  you  hsten  to  that  now?  "  said  the  Sergeant 
to  his  polyglot  companion.  "  What  do  you  think  of 
that  for  a  civilised  city?  The  Indians  are  not  in  it 
with  that  bunch,"  continued  the  Sergeant,  who  was 
diligently  endeavouring  to  shed  Ills  Highland  accent 
and  to  take  on  the  colloquialisms  of  the  country. 

From  a  house  a  block  and  a  half  away,  a  confused 
clamour  rose  up  Into  the  still  night  air. 

"  Oh,  dat  noting,"  cheerfully  said  the  little  Rus- 


86  THE   FOREIGNER 

sian,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  "  dey  mak  like  dat 
when  dey  having  a  good  time." 

"  They  do,  eh?  And  how  do  you  think  their  neigh- 
bours will  be  hking  that  sort  of  thing?  " 

The  Sergeant  stood  still  to  analyse  this  confused 
clamour.  Above  the  thumping  and  the  singing  of  the 
dancers  could  be  heard  the  sound  of  breaking  boards, 
mingled  with  yells  and  curses. 

"  Murchuk,  there  is  fighting  going  on.'* 

"  Suppose,"  agreed  the  Interpreter,  "  when  Gali- 
cian  man  get  married,  he  want  much  joy.  He  gel 
much  beer,  much  fight." 

"  I  will  j  ust  be  taking  a  walk  round  there,"  said 
the  Sergeant.  "  These  people  have  got  to  learn  to 
get  married  with  less  fuss  about  it.  I  am  not  going 
to  stand  this  much  longer.  What  do  they  want  to 
fight  for  anyway  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  replied  Murchuk  lightly,  "  Polak  not  hke 
Slovak,  Slovak  not  like  Galician.  Dey  drink  plenty 
beer,  tink  of  someting  in  Old  Country,  get  mad, 
make  noise,  fight  some." 

"  Come  along  with  me,"  replied  the  Sergeant,  and 
he  squared  his  big  shoulders  and  set  off  do^vn  the 
street  with  the  quick,  light  stride  that  suggested  the 
springing  step  of  his  Highland  ancestors  on  the 
heather  hills  of  Scotland. 

Just  as  they  arrived  at  the  house  of  feasting,  a  cry, 
wild,  weird  and  horrible,  pierced  through  the  uproar. 
The  Interpreter  stopped  as  if  sti'uck  with  a  bullet. 


THE   GRIP   OF   BRITISH   LAW  87 

**  My  God !  "  he  cried  in  an  undertone,  clutching 
the  Sergeant  by  the  arm,  "  My  God !    Dat  terrible !  " 

"What  is  it?  What  is  the  matter  with  you, 
Murchuk?" 

"  You  know  not  dat  cry  ?  No  ? "  He  was  all 
trembhng.  "  Dat  cry  I  hear  long  ago  in  Russland. 
Russian  man  mak  dat  cry  when  he  kill.  Dat  Nihilist 
cry." 

"  Go  back  and  get  Dr.  Wright.  He  will  be  needed, 
sure.  You  know  where  he  liA^es,  second  corner  down 
on  Main  Street.    Get  a  move  on !    Quick !  " 

Meantime,  while  respectable  Winnipeg  lay  snugly 
asleep  under  snow-covered  roofs  and  smoking  chim- 
neys, while  belated  revellers  and  travellers  were  mak- 
ing their  way  through  white,  silent  streets  and 
under  avenues  of  snow-laden  trees  to  homes  where 
reigned  love  and  peace  and  virtue,  in  the  north  end 
and  in  the  foreign  colony  the  festivities  in  connec- 
tion with  Anka's  wedding  were  drawing  to  a  close  in 
sordid  drunken  dance  and  song  and  in  sanguinary 
fighting. 

In  the  main  room  dance  and  song  reeled  on  in  up- 
roarious hilarity.  In  the  basement  below,  foul  and 
fetid,  men  stood  packed  close,  drinking  while  they 
could.  It  was  for  the  foreigner  an  hour  of  rare 
opportunity.  The  beer  kegs  stood  open  and  there 
were  plenty  of  tin  mugs  about.  In  the  dim  light  of 
a  smoky  lantern,  the  swaying  crowd,  here  singing  in 
maadlin  chorus,  there  fighting  savagely  to  pay  off 


88  THE   FOREIGNER 

old  scores  or  to  avenge  new  insults,  presented  a  nau- 
seating spectacle. 

In  the  farthest  corner  of  the  room,  unmoved  by  all 
this  din,  about  a  table  consisting  of  a  plank  laid 
across  two  beer  kegs,  one  empty,  the  other  for  the 
convenience  of  the  players  half  full,  sat  four  men 
deep  in  a  game  of  cards.  Rosenblatt  with  a  big  Dal- 
matian sailor  as  partner,  against  a  little  Polak  and 
a  dark-bearded  man.  This  man  was  apparently  very 
drunk,  as  was  evident  by  his  reckless  playing  and  his 
jibing,  jeering  manner.  He  was  losing  money,  but 
with  perfect  good  cheer.  Not  so  his  partner,  the 
Polak.  Every  loss  made  him  more  savage  and  quar- 
relsome. With  great  difficulty  Rosenblatt  was  able 
to  keep  the  game  going  and  preserve  peace.  The 
singing,  swaying,  yelling,  cursing  crowd  beside  them 
also  gave  him  concern,  and  over  and  again  he  would 
shout,  "  Keep  quiet,  you  fools.  The  police  will  be  on 
us,  and  that  will  be  the  end  of  your  beer,  for  they  will 
put  you  in  prison  !  " 

"Yes,"  jeered  the  black-bearded  man,  who  seemed 
to  be  set  on  making  a  row,  "  all  fo  )ls,  Russian  fools, 
Polak  fools,  GaHcian  fools,  Slovak  fools,  aJ  fools 
together." 

Angry  voices  replied  from  all  sides,  and  the  noise 
rose  higher. 

*'  Keep  quiet !  "  cried  R'osenMatt,  rising  to  his  feet, 
**  the  police  will  surely  be  here !  " 

"  That    is    true,"    cried    the    black-bearded    e  lan, 


THE    GRIP   OF   BRITISH   LAW  89 

**  keep  them  quiet  or  the  police  will  herd  them  in  like 
sheep,  like  little  sheep,  baa,  baa,  baa,  baa !  " 

"  The  police !  "  shouted  a  voice  in  reply,  "  who 
cares  for  the  police?" 

A  yell  of  derisive  assent  rose  in  response. 

*'  Be  quiet !  "  besought  Rosenblatt  again.  He  was 
at  his  wits'  end.  The  police  might  at  any  time  ap- 
pear and  that  would  end  what  was  for  him  a  very 
profitable  game,  and  besides  might  involve  him  in 
serious  trouble.  "  Here  you,  Joseph !  "  he  cried,  ad- 
dressing a  man  near  him,  "  another  keg  of  beer !  " 

Between  them  they  hoisted  up  a  keg  of  beer  on  an 
empty  cask,  knocked  in  the  head,  and  set  them  drink- 
ing with  renewed  eagerness. 

"  Swine !  "  he  said,  seating  himself  again  at  the 
table.     "  Come,  let  us  play." 

But  the  very  devil  of  strife  see:  tied  to  be  In  the 
black-bearded  man.  He  gibed  at  the  good-natured 
Dalmatian,  setting  the  Polak  at  him,  suggested 
crooked  dealing,  playing  recklessly  and  losing  his 
own  and  his  partner's  money.  At  length  the  inevit- 
able clash  came.  As  the  Dalmatian  reached  for  a 
trick,  the  Polak  cried  out,  "  Hold !     It  is  mine  !  " 

"  Yes,  certainly  It  is  his ! "  shouted  the  black- 
bearded  man. 

"  Liar !  It  is  mine,"  said  the  Dalmatian,  with  per- 
fect good  temper,  and  held  on  to  his  cards. 

"Liar  yourself!"  hissed  the  little  Polak,  thrust- 
ing his  face  toward  the  Dalmatian. 


fiO  THE   FOREIGNER 

"  Go  away,"  said  tlie  Dalmatian.  His  huge  open 
hand  appeared  to  rest  a  moment  on  the  Polak's  grin- 
ning face,  and  somehow  the  Httle  man  was  swept  from 
his  seat  to  the  floor. 

"  Ho,  ho,"  laughed  the  Dalmatian,  "  so  I  brush 
away  a  fly." 

With  a  face  like  a  demon's,  the  Polak  sprang  at  his 
big  antagonist,  an  open  knife  in  his  hand,  and  j  abbed 
him  in  the  arm.  For  a  moment  the  big  man  sat  look- 
ing at  his  assailant  as  if  amazed  at  his  audacity. 
Then  as  he  saw  the  blood  running  down  his  fingers 
he  went  mad,  seized  the  Polak  by  the  hair,  lifted  liim 
clear  out  of  his  seat,  carrying  the  plank  table  with 
him,  and  thereupon  taking  him  by  the  back  of  the 
neck,  proceeded  to  shake  him  till  his  teeth  rattled  in 
his  head. 

At  almost  the  same  instant  the  black-bearded  man 
leaped  across  the  fallen  table  like  a  tiger,  at  Rosen- 
blatt's throat,  and  bore  him  down  to  the  earthen 
floor  in  the  dark  corner.  Sitting  astride  his  chest, 
his  knees  on  Rosenblatt's  arms,  and  gripping  him 
by  the  throat,  he  held  him  voiceless  and  helpless. 
Soon  his  victim  lay  still,  looking  up  into  his  assail- 
ant's face  in  surprise,  fear  and  rage  unspeakable. 

"  Rosenblatt,"  said  the  bearded  man  in  a  soft  voice, 
"  you  know  me  —  me  ?  " 

"  No,"  gasped  Rosenblatt  in  terrible  fury,  "  what 
do  you  —  " 

"  Look,"   said  the  man.      With  his   free  hand   be 


THE   GRIP   OF   BRITISH   LAW  91 

Mi^ept  off  the  black  beard  which  he  stuffed  into  his 
pocket. 

Rosenblatt  looked.  "  Kalmar !  "  he  gasped,  terror 
in  his  eyes. 

"  Yes,  Kalmar,"  replied  the  man. 

"  Help !  —  "    The  cry  died  at  his  teeth. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Kalmar,  shutting  his  fingers  upon 
his  windpipe.  "  No  noise.  We  are  to  have  a  quiet 
moment  here.  They  are  all  too  busy  to  notice  us. 
Listen."  He  leaned  far  do^vTi  over  the  ghastly  face 
of  the  wretched  man  beneath  him.  "  Shall  I  tell  you 
why  I  am  here?  Shall  I  remind  you  of  your  crimes? 
No,  I  need  not.  You  remember  them  well,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  you  will  be  in  hell  for  them.  Five  years 
I  froze  and  burned  in  Siberia,  through  you."  As  he 
said  the  word  "  you  "  he  leaned  a  little  closer.  His 
voice  remained  low  and  soft,  but  his  eyes  were  blazing 
with  a  light  as  of  madness.  "  For  this  moment,"  he 
continued  gently,  "  I  have  hungered,  thirsted,  panted. 
Now  it  has  come.  I  regret  I  must  hurry  a  little.  I 
should  like  to  drink  this  sweet  cup  sIowIjj-,  oh  so 
slowly,  drop  by  drop.  But  —  ah,  do  not  struggle, 
nor  cry.  It  will  only  add  to  your  pain.  Do  you 
see  this  ?  "  He  drew  from  his  pocket  what  seemed  a 
knife  handle,  pressed  a  spring,  and  from  this  handle 
there  shot  out  a  blade,  long,  thin,  murderous  looking. 
"  It  has  a  sharp  point,  oh,  a  very  sharp  point."  He 
pricked  Rosenblatt  in  the  cheek,  and  as  Rosenblatt 
squirmed,   laughed   a   laugh   of   singular   sweetness. 


92  THE   FOREIGNER 

"  With  this  beautiful  instrument  I  mean  to  pick  ou^ 
your  eyes,  and  then  I  shall  drive  it  down  through 
your  heart,  and  you  will  be  dead.  It  will  not  hurt 
so  very  much,"  he  continued  in  a  tone  of  regret. 
"  No  no,  not  so  very  much ;  not  so  much  as  when  you 
put  out  the  light  of  my  life,  when  you  murdered  my 
wife;  not  so  much  as  when  you  pierced  my  heart  in 
betraying  my  cause.  See,  it  will  not  hurt  so  very 
much."  He  put  the  sharp  blade  against  Rosen- 
blatt's breast  high  up  above  the  heart,  and  drove  it 
slowly  down  through  the  soft  flesh  till  he  came  to 
bone.  Like  a  mad  thing,  his  unhappy  victim  threw 
himself  wildly  about  in  a  furious  struggle.  But  he 
was  like  a  babe  in  the  hands  that  gripped  him.  Kal- 
mar  laughed  gleefully.  "  Aha !  Aha !  Good !  Good ! 
You  give  me  much  joy.  Alas!  it  is  so  short-lived, 
and  I  must  hurry.  Now  for  your  right  eye.  Or 
would  you  prefer  the  left  first?  " 

As  he  released  the  pressure  upon  Rosenblatt's 
throat,  the  wretched  man  gurgled  forth,  "  Mercy ! 
Mercy !    God's  name,  mercy !  " 

Piteous  abject  terror  showed  in  his  staring  eyes. 
His  voice  was  to  Kalmar  like  blood  to  a  tiger. 

"  Mercy ! "  he  hissed,  thrusting  his  face  still 
nearer,  his  smile  now  all  gone.  "Mercy?  God's 
name !  Hear  him !  I,  too,  cried  for  mercy  for  father, 
brother,  wife,  but  found  none.  Now  though  God 
Himself  should  plead,  you  will  have  only  such  mercy 
from  me."     He  seemed  to  lose  hold  of  himself.     Hi» 


THE   GRIP   OF   BRITISH   LAW  98 

breath  came  in  tliick  sharp  sobs,  foam  fell  from  his 
lips.  "  Ha,"  he  gasped.  "  I  camiot  wait  even  to 
pick  your  eyes.  There  is  some  one  at  the  door. 
I  must  drink  your  heart's  blood  now!  Now! 
A-h-h-h !  "  His  voice  rose  in  a  wild  cry,  weird  and 
terrible.  He  raised  his  knife  liigh,  but  as  it  fell  the 
Dalmatian,  who  had  been  amusing  himself  battering 
the  Polak  about  during  these  moments,  suddenly 
heaved  the  little  man  at  Kalmar,  and  knocked  him 
into  the  corner.  The  loiife  fell,  buried  not  in  the 
heart  of  Rosenblatt,  but  in  the  Polak's  neck. 

There  was  no  time  to  strike  again.  There  was  a 
loud  battering,  then  a  crash  as  the  door  was  kicked 
open. 

"  Hello!    What  is  all  this  row  here?  " 

It  was  Sergeant  Cameron,  pushing  his  big  body 
through  the  crowd  as  a  man  bursts  through  a  ^.hicket. 
An  awed  silence  had  fallen  upon  all,  arrested,  sobered 
by  that  weird  cry.  Some  of  them  knew  that  cry  of 
old.  They  had  heard  it  in  the  Old  Land  in  circum- 
stances of  heart-chilling  terror,  but  never  in  this 
land  till  this  moment. 

"What  is  all  this?"  cried  the  Sergeant  again. 
His  glance  swept  the  room  and  rested  upon  the  hud- 
dled heap  of  men  in  the  furthest  corner.  He  seized 
the  topmost  and  hauled  him  roughly  from  the  heap. 

"  Hello !  What 's  this?  Why,  God  bless  my  soul! 
The  man  is  dying !  " 

From   a   wound   in   the   neck   the   blood   was    still 


94  THE   FOREIGNER 

spouting.  Quickly  the  Sergeant  was  on  his  kneee 
beside  the  wounded  man,  his  thumb  pressed  hard 
upon  the  gaping  wound.  But  still  the  blood  con- 
tinued to  bubble  up  and  squirt  from  under  hi» 
thumb.  All  around,  the  earthen  floor  was  muddy  with 
blood. 

"  Run,  some  of  you,"  commanded  the  Sergeant, 
"  and  hurry  up  that  Dr.  Wright,  Main  Street,  two 
oorners  down !  " 

Jacob  Wassyl,  who  had  come  in  from  the  room 
above,  understood,  and  sent  a  man  off  with  all 
speed. 

"  Good  Lord !  Wiiat  a  pig  sticking !  "  said  tb« 
Sergeant.  "  There  is  a  barrel  of  blood  around  here. 
And  here  is  another  man !  Here  you !  "  addressing 
Jacob,  "  put  your  thumb  here  and  press  so.  It  is 
not  mrch  good,  but  we  cannot  do  anything  else  just 
now."  The  Sergeant  straightened  himself  up.  Evi- 
dently this  was  no  ordinary  "  scrap."  "  Let  no  maa 
leave  this  room,"  he  cried  aloud.  "  Tell  them,"  he 
said,  addressing  Jacob,  "  you  speak  English ;  and 
two  of  you,  you  and  you,  stand  by  the  door  and  let 
no  man  out  except  as  I  give  the  word." 

The  two  men  took  their  places. 

"  Now  then,  let  us  see  what  else  there  is  here.  Do 
you  know  these  men?  "  he  enquired  of  Jacob. 

"  Dis  man,"  replied  Jacob,  "  I  not  know.  LRm 
Polak  man." 

The  men  standing  about  began  to  jabber. 


TIIE    GRIP   OF   BRITISH   LAW  95 

"What  do  they  say?" 

"  Him  Polak.  Kravicz  his  name.  He  no  bad  man. 
He  fight  quick,  but  not  a  bad  man." 

"  Well,  he  won't  fight  much  more,  I  am  thinking," 
rephed  the  Sergeant. 

A  second  man  lay  on  his  back  in  a  pool  of  blood 
insensible.  His  face  showed  ghastly  beneath  its  hor- 
rible smear  of  blood  and  filth. 

"  Brino;  me  that  lantern,"  commanded  the  Ser- 
geant. 

"My  God !  "  cried  Jacob,  "  it  is  Rosenblatt !  " 

"  Rosenblatt.?     Who  is  he?  " 

"  De  man  dat  live  here,  dis  house.  He  run  store. 
Lots  mon'.     My  God !    He  dead  !  " 

"  Looks  like  it,"  said  the  Sergeant,  opening  his 
coat.  "  He  's  got  a  bad  hole  in  him  here,"  he  con- 
tinued, pointing  to  a  wound  in  the  chest.  "  Looks 
deep,  and  he  is  bleeding,  too." 

There  was  a  knocking  at  the  door. 

"  Let  him  in,"  cried  the  Sergeant,  "  it  is  the  doc- 
tor. Hello,  Doctor!  Here  is  something  for  you  all 
right." 

The  doctor,  a  tall,  athletic  young  fellow  with  a 
keen,  intellectual  face,  pushed  his  way  through  the 
crowd  to  the  corner  and  dropped  on  his  knees  beside 
the  Polak. 

"  Why,  the  man  is  dead !  "  said  the  doctor,  putting 
his  hand  over  the  Polak's  heart. 

Even  as  he  spoke,  a  shudder  passed  through  the 


96  THE   FOREIGNER 

man's  frame,  and  he  lay  still.  The  doctor  examined 
the  hole  in  his  neck. 

"  Yes,  he  's  dead,  sure  enough.  The  jugular  vein 
is  severed." 

"  Well,  here  is  another.  Doctor,  who  will  be  dead 
in  a  few  minutes,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,"  said  the 
Sergeant. 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  the  doctor,  turning  to  Rosen- 
blatt. "  Heavens  above !  "  he  cried,  as  his  knees  sank 
in  the  bloody  mud,  "  it 's  blood !  " 

He  passed  round  the  other  side  of  the  unconscious 
man,  got  out  his  syringe  and  gave  him  a  hypodermic. 
In  a  few  minutes  Rosenblatt  showed  signs  of  life. 
He  began  to  breathe  heavily,  then  to  cough  and  spit 
mouthfuls  of  blood. 

"  Ha,  lung,  I  guess,"  said  the  doctor,  examining 
a  small  clean  Avound  high  up  in  the  left  breast.  "  Bet- 
ter send  for  an  ambulance.  Sergeant,  and  hurry  them 
up.  The  sooner  we  get  him  to  the  hospital,  the 
better.  And  here  is  another  man.  What 's  wrong 
with  him?  " 

Beyond  Rosenblatt  lay  a  black-bearded  man  upon 
his  face,  breathing  heavily.  The  doctor  turned  him 
over. 

"  He  's  alive  anyway,  and,"  after  examination,  "  I 
can't  find  any  wound.  Heart  all  right,  nothing 
wrong  with  him,  I  guess,  except  that  he  's  got  a  bad 
jag  on." 

A    cursory    examination    of    the    crowd    revealed 


THE    GRIP   OF   BRITISH   LAW  97 

wounds  in  plenty,  but  nothing  serious  enough  to  de- 
mand the  doctor's  attention. 

"  Now  then,"  said  the  Sergeant  briskly,  "  I  want 
to  get  your  names  and  addresses.  You  can  let  me 
have  them?  "  he  continued,  turning  to  Jacob. 

"  Me  not  know  all  mens." 

"  Go  on,"  said  the  Sergeant  curtly. 

"  Dis  man  Rosenblatt.  Dis  man  Polak,  Kravicz. 
Not  know  where  he  live." 

"  It  would  be  difficult,  I  am  thinking,  for  any  one 
to  tell  where  he  lives  now,"  said  the  Sergeant  grimly, 
"  and  it  does  not  much  matter  for  my  purpose." 

"  Poor  chap,"  said  the  doctor,  "  it 's  too  bad." 

"What?"  said  the  Sergeant,  glancing  at  him, 
"  well,  it  is  too  bad,  that  is  true.  But  they  are  a  bad 
lot,  these  Galicians." 

"  Poor  chap,"  continued  the  doctor,  looking  down 
upon  him,  "  perhaps  he  has  got  a  wife  and  children." 

A  murmur  rose  among  the  men. 

"  No,  he  got  no  wife,"  said  Jacob. 

"  Thank  goodness  for  that ! "  said  the  doctor. 
"  These  fellows  are  a  bit  rough,"  he  continued,  "  but 
they  have  never  had  a  chance,  nor  even  half  a  chance. 
A  beastly  tyrannical  government  at  -  home  has  put 
the  fear  of  death  on  them  for  this  world,  and  an  ig- 
norant and  superstitious  Church  has  kept  them  in 
fear  of  purgatory  and  hell  fire  for  the  next.  They 
have  never  had  a  chance  in  their  own  land,  and  so  far, 
they  have  got  uo  better  chance  here,  except  that  they^ 


S8  THE   FOREIGNER 

do  not  live  in  the  fear  of  Siberia."  The  doctor  had 
his  own  views  upon  the  foreign  peoples  in  the  West. 

"  That  is  all  right,  Doctor,"  said  the  Sergeant, 
despite  the  Calvinism  of  generations  beating  in  his 
heart,  "  it  is  hard  on  them,  but  there  is  nobody  com- 
pelling them  here  to  drink  and  fight  like  a  lot  of 
brutes." 

"  But  who  is  to  teach  them  any  better.?  "  said  the 
doctor. 

"Come  on,"  said  the  Sergeant,  "who  is  this?" 
pointing  to  the  dark-bearded  man  lying  in  the 
corner. 

"  Dis  man,"  said  Jacob,  "  strange  man." 

"  Any  of  you  know  him  here.f*  "  asked  the  Sergeant, 

There  was  a  murmur  of  voices. 

"What  do  they  say.?" 

"  No  one  know  liim.  He  drink  much  beer.  He 
very  drunk.  He  play  cards  wit'  Rosenblatt,"  said 
Jacob. 

"Playing  cards,  eh?  I  think  we  will  be  finding 
something  now.     Who  else  was  in  the  card  game.?  " 

Again  a  murmur  of  voices  arose. 

"  Dis  Polak  man,"  said  Jacob,  "  and  Rosenblatt, 
and  dat  man  dere,  and  —  " 

Half  a  dozen  voices  rose  in  explanation,  and  half 
a  dozen  hands  eagerly  pointed  out  the  big  Dalmatian, 
who  stood  back  among  the  crowd  pale  with  terror. 

"  Come  up  here,  you,"  said  the  Sergeant  to  him. 

Instead  of  responding,  with  one  bound  the  Dal- 


THE    GRIP   OF   BRITISH   LAW  99 

matian  was  at  the  door,  and  hurled  the  two  men  aside 
as  if  they  were  wooden  pegs.  But  before  he  could 
tear  open  the  door,  the  Sergeant  was  on  him.  At 
once  the  Dalmatian  grappled  with  him  in  a  fierce 
struggle.  There  was  a  quick  angry  growl  from  the 
crowd.  They  all  felt  themselves  to  be  in  an  awkward 
position.  Once  out  of  the  room,  it  would  be  difficult 
for  any  police  officer  to  associate  them  in  any  way 
with  the  crime.  The  odds  were  forty  to  one.  Why 
not  make  a  break  for  liberty?  A  rush  was  made  for 
the  struggling  pair  at  the  door. 

"  Get  back  there !  "  roared  the  Sergeant,  swinging 
his  baton  and  holding  off  his  man  with  the  other 
hand. 

At  the  same  instant  the  doctor,  springing  up  from 
his  patient,  and  taking  in  the  situation,  put  down  his 
head  and  bored  through  the  crowd  in  the  manner 
which  at  one  time  had  been  the  admiration  and  envy 
of  his  fellow-students  in  Manitoba  College,  till  he 
found  himself  side  by  side  with  the  Sergeant. 

"  Well  done !  "  cried  the  Sergeant  in  cheerful  ap- 
proval, "  you  are  the  lad!  We  will  just  be  teaching 
these  chaps  a  fery  good  lesson,  whateffer,"  continued 
the  Sergeant,  lapsing  in  his  excitement  into  his  native 
dialect.  "  Here  you,"  he  cried  to  the  big  Dalmatian 
who  was  struggling  and  kicking  in  a  frenzy  of  fear 
and  rage,  "will  you  not  keep  quiet?  Take  that 
then."  And  he  laid  no  gentle  tap  with  his  baton 
aeross  the  head  of  his  captive. 


100  THE    FOREIGNER 

The  Dalmatian  staggered  to  the  wall  and  col- 
lapsed. There  was  a  flash  of  steel  and  a  click,  and 
he  lay  handcuffed  and  senseless  at  the  Sergeant's  side. 

"  I  hate  to  do  that,"  said  the  Sergeant  apologeti- 
cally, "  but  on  this  occasion  it  cannot  be  helped. 
That  was  a  good  one.  Doctor,"  he  continued,  as  the 
doctor  planted  his  left  upon  an  opposing  Galician 
chin,  thereby  causing  a  sudden  subsidence  of  its 
owner.  "  These  men  have  not  got  used  to  us  yet,  and 
we  will  just  have  to  be  patient  with  them,"  said  the 
Sergeant,  laying  about  with  his  baton  as  opportunity 
offered,  not  in  any  slashing  wholesale  manner,  but 
making  selection,  and  dehvering  his  blows  with  the 
eye  and  hand  of  an  artist.  He  was  handling  the  situ- 
ation gently  and  Avith  discretion.  Still  the  crowd 
kept  pressing  hard  upon  the  two  men  at  the  door. 

"  We  must  put  a  stop  to  this,"  said  the  Sergeant 
seriously.  "  Here  you ! "  he  called  to  Jacob  above 
the  uproar. 

Jacob  pushed  nearer  to  him. 

"  Tell  these  fellows  that  I  am  not  wanting  to  hurt 
any  of  them,  but  if  they  do  not  get  quiet  soon,  I  will 
attack  them  and  will  not  spare  them,  and  that  if  they 
quit  their  fighting,  none  of  them  will  be  hurt  except 
the  guilty  party." 

At  once  Jacob  sprang  upon  a  beer  keg  and  waving 
his  arms  wildly,  he  secured  a  partial  silence,  and 
translated  for  them  the  Sergeant's  words. 

"  And  tell  them,  too,"  .s,aid  ths  doctor  in  a  high. 


THE   GRIP   OF  BRITISH  LAW         101 

clear  voice,  "  there  is  a  man  dying  over  there  that  I 
have  got  to  attend  to  right  now,  and  I  have  n't  time 
for  this  foohsliness." 

As  he  spoke,  he  once  more  bored  his  way  through 
the  crowd  to  the  side  of  Rosenblatt,  who  was  continu- 
ing to  gasp  painfully  and  spit  blood.  The  moment 
of  danger  was  past.  The  excited  crowd  settled  down 
again  into  an  appearance  of  stupid  anxiety,  awaiting 
they  knew  not  what. 

"  Now  then,"  said  the  Sergeant,  turning  to  the  Dal- 
matian who  had  recovered  consciousness  and  was 
standing  sullen  and  passive.  He  had  made  his  at- 
tempt for  liberty,  he  had  failed,  and  now  he  was  ready 
to  accept  his  fate.  "  Ask  him  what  is  his  name,"  said 
the  Sergeant. 

"  He  say  his  name  John  Jarema." 

"  And  what  has  he  got  to  say  for  himself?  " 

At  this  the  Dalmatian  began  to  speak  with  eager 
gesticulation. 

"  What  is  he  saying.''  "  enquired  the  Sergeant. 

"  Dis  man  say  he  no  hurt  no  man.  Dis  man," 
pointing  to  the  dead  Polak,  "  play  cards,  fight,  stab 
knife  into  his  arm,"  said  Jacob,  pulling  up  the  Dal- 
matian's coat  sleeve  to  show  an  ugly  gash  in  the  fore- 
arm. "  Jarema  hit  him  on  head,  shake  him  bad,  and 
trow  him  in  corner  on  noder  man." 

Again  the  Dalmatian  broke  forth. 

"  He  say  he  got  no  knife  at  all.  He  cannot  make 
hole  like  dat  wit'  his  finger." 


102  THE    FOREIGNER 

"  Well,  we  shall  see  about  that,"  said  the  Sergeant. 
*'  Now  where  is  that  other  man?  "  He  turned  toward 
the  corner.  The  corner  was  empty.  "  Where  has  he 
gone?  "  said  the  Sergeant,  peering  through  the  crowd 
for  a  black-whiskered  face. 

The  man  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  The  Sergeant 
was  puzzled  and  angered.  He  lined  the  men  up 
around  the  walls,  but  the  man  was  not  to  be  found. 
As  each  man  uttered  his  name,  there  were  always 
some  to  recognize  and  to  corroborate  the  information. 
One  man  alone  seemed  a  stranger  to  all  in  the  com- 
pany. He  was  clean  shaven,  but  for  a  moustache  with 
ends  turned  up  in  military  manner,  and  with  an  ap- 
pearance of  higher  intelligence  than  the  average 
Galician. 

"  Ask  him  his  name,"  said  the  Sergeant. 

The  man  replied  volubly,  and  Jacob  interpreted- 

"  His  name,  Rudolph  Polkoff,  Polak  man. 
Stranger,  come  to  dis  town  soon.  Know  no  man 
here.     Some  man  bring  him  here  to  dance." 

The  Sergeant  kept  his  keen  eye  fastened  on  the 
man  while  he  talked. 

"  Well,  he  looks  like  a  smart  one.  Come  here,"  he 
said,  beckoning  the  stranger  forward  into  the  better 
light. 

The  man  came  and  stood  with  his  back  to 
Rosenblatt. 

"  Hold  up  your  hands." 

The  man  stared  blankly.     Jacob  interpreted-     He 


THE    GRIP   OF   BRITISH   LAW         108 

hesitated  a  moment,  then  held  up  his  hands  above  his 
head.     The  Sergeant  turned  him  about. 

"You  will  not  be  having  any  weepons  on  you.''*' 
said  the  Sergeant,  searching  his  pockets.  "  Hello ! 
What 's  this  ?  "     He  pulled  out  the  false  beard. 

The  same  instant  there  was  a  gasping  cry  from 
Rosenblatt.  All  turned  in  his  direction.  Into  his 
dim  eyes  and  pallid  face  suddenly  sprang  life ;  fear 
and  hate  struggling  to  find  expression  in  the  look 
he  fixed  upon  the  stranger.  With  a  tremendous  effort 
he  raised  his  hand,  and  pointing  to  the  stranger  with 
a  long,  dirty  finger,  he  gasped,  "  Arrest  —  he  mur- 
der —  "  and  fell  back  again  unconscious. 

Even  as  he  spoke  there  was  a  quick  movement.  The 
lantern  was  dashed  to  the  ground,  the  room  plunged 
into  darkness  and  before  the  Sergeant  knew  what  had 
happened,  the  stranger  had  shaken  himself  free  from 
his  grasp,  torn  open  the  door  and  fled. 

With  a  mighty  oath,  the  Sergeant  was  after  him, 
but  the  darkness  and  the  crowd  interfered  with  his 
progress,  and  by  the  time  he  had  reached  the  door, 
the  man  had  completely  vanished.  At  the  door  stood 
Murchuk  with  the  ambulance. 

"  See  a  man  run  out  here?  "  demanded  the  Sergeant. 

"  You  bet !    He  run  like  buck  deer." 

"  Why  did  n't  you  stop  him.^^  "  cried  the  Sergeant. 

**  Stop  him ! "  replied  the  astonished  Murchuk, 
"  would  you  stop  a  mad  crazy  bull?    No,  no,  not  me." 

"  Get  that  man  inside  to  the  hospital  then.     He 


104  THE   FOREIGNER 

won't  hurt  you,"  exclaimed  the  Sergeant  in  wrathful 
contempt.  "  I  '11  catch  that  man  if  I  have  to  arrest 
every  Galician  in  this  city !  " 

It  was  an  unspeakable  humiliation  to  the  Sergeant, 
but  with  such  vigour  did  he  act,  that  before  the  morn- 
ing dawned,  he  had  every  exit  from  the  city  by  rail 
and  by  trail  under  surveillance,  and  before  a  week  was 
past,  by  adopting  the  very  simple  policy  of  arresting 
every  foreigner  who  attempted  to  leave  the  town,  he 
had  secured  his  man. 

It  was  a  notable  arrest.  From  all  the  evidence,  it 
seemed  that  the  prisoner  was  a  most  dangerous  crim- 
inal. The  principal  source  of  evidence,  however,  was 
Rosenblatt,  whose  deposition  was  taken  down  by  the 
Sergeant  and  the  doctor. 

The  man,  it  appeared,  was  known  by  many  names, 
Koval,  Kolowski,  Polkoff  and  others,  but  his  real 
name  was  Michael  Kalmar.  He  was  a  determined  and 
desperate  Nihilist,  was  wanted  for  many  crimes  by  the 
Russian  police,  and  had  spent  some  years  as  a  con- 
vict in  Siberia  where,  if  justice  had  its  due,  he  would 
be  at  the  present  time.  He  had  cast  off  his  wife  and 
I  children,  whom  he  had  shipped  to  Canada.  Inciden- 
tally it  came  out  that  it  was  only  Rosenblatt's  gener- 
osity that  had  intervened  between  them  and  starva- 
tion. Balked  in  one  of  his  desperate  Nihilist 
schemes  by  Rosenblatt,  who  held  a  position  of  trust 
under  the  Russian  Government,  he  had  sworn  ven- 
jgeance,  and  escaping  from  Siberia,  he  had  come  to 


THE    GRIP   OF   BRITISH   LAW         105 

Canada  to  make  good  his  oath.  And  but  for  the 
timely  appearance  of  the  police,  he  would  have 
succeeded. 

Meantime,  Sergeant  Cameron  was  receiving  con- 
gratulations on  all  hands  for  his  cleverness  in  making 
the  arrest  of  a  man  who  had  escaped  the  vigilance  of 
the  Russian  Police  and  Secret  Service,  said  to  be  the 
finest  in  all  Europe.  In  his  cell,  the  man,  as  good  as 
condemned,  waited  his  trial,  a  stranger  far  from  help 
and  kindred,  an  object  of  terror  and  of  horror  to 
many,  of  compassion  to  a  few.  But  however  men 
thought  of  him,  he  had  sinned  against  British 
civilisation,  and  would  now  have  to  taste  of  British 
justice. 


106  THE    FOREIGNER 


CHAPTER    VII 


CONDEMNED 


THE  two  months  preceding  the  trial  weri  iP-iths 
of  restless  agony  to  the  prisoner,  Kalmar. 
Day  and  night  he  paced  his  cell  hke  a  tiger  in  a  cage, 
taking  little  food  and  sleeping  only  when  overcome 
with  exhaustion.  It  was  not  the  confinement  that 
fretted  him.  The  Winnipeg  jail,  with  all  its  defects 
and  limitations,  was  a  palace  to  some  that  he  had 
known.  It  was  not  the  fear  of  the  issue  to  his  trial 
that  drove  sleep  and  hunger  from  him.  Death,  exile, 
imprisonment,  had  been  too  long  at  his  heels  to  be 
strangers  to  him  or  to  cause  him  fear.  In  his  heart 
a  fire  burned.  Rosenblatt  still  lived,  and  vengeance 
had  halted  in  its  pursuit. 

But  deep  as  was  the  passion  in  his  heart  for  ven- 
geance, that  for  his  country  and  his  cause  burned 
deeper.  He  had  been  able  to  establish  lines  of  com- 
munication between  his  fatherland  and  the  new  world 
by  means  of  which  the  oppressed,  the  hunted,  might 
reach  freedom  and  safety.  The  final  touches  to  his 
plans  were  still  to  be  given.  Furthermore,  it  was 
necessary  that  he  should  make  his  report  in  person, 
else  much  of  his  labour  would  be  fruitless.     It  was 


CONDEMNED  IW 

this   that  brought  him  "  white   nights  "   and  black 
days. 

Every  day  Paulina  called  at  the  jail  and  waited 
long  hours  with  uncomplaining  patience  in  the  winter 
cold,  till  she  could  be  admitted.  Her  husband  showed 
Tio  sign  of  interest,  much  less  of  gratitude.  One  ques, 
tion  alone,  he  asked  day  by  day. 

"  The  children  are  well?  " 

"  They  are  well,"  PauHna  would  answer.  "  They 
ask  to  see  you  every  day." 

"  They  may  not  see  me  here,"  he  would  reply, 
after  which  she  would  turn  away,  her  dull  face  full 
of  patient  suffering. 

One  item  of  news  she  brought  him  that  gave  him 
a  moment's  cheer. 

"Kalman,"  she  said,  one  day,  "  will  speak  nothing 
but  Russian." 

"  Ha !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  He  is  my  son  indeed. 
But,"  he  added  gloomily,  "  of  what  use  now?  " 

Others  sought  admission, —  visitors  from  the  Jail 
Mission,  philanthropic  ladies,  a  priest  from  St.  Boni- 
face, a  Methodist  minister,  —  but  all  were  alike  de- 
nied. Simon  Ketzel  he  sent  for,  and  with  him  held 
long  converse,  with  the  result  that  he  was  able  to 
secure  for  his  defence  the  ser\accs  of  O'Hara,  the 
leading  criminal  lawyer  of  Western  Canada.  There 
appeared  to  be  no  lack  of  money,  and  all  that  money 
could  do  was  done. 

The  case  began  to  excite  considerable  interest,  not 


108  THE    FOREIGNER 

only  In  the  city,  but  throughout  the  whole  country. 
Pubhc  opinion  was  strongly  against  the  prisoner. 
Never  in  the  history  of  the  new  country  had  a  crime 
been  committed  of  such  horrible  and  bloodthirsty 
deliberation.  It  is  true  that  this  opinion  was  based 
largely  upon  Rosenblatt's  deposition,  taken  by  Ser- 
geant Cameron  and  Dr.  Wright  when  he  was  sup- 
posed to  be  in  extremis,  and  upon  various  newspaper 
interviews  with  him  that  appeared  from  time  to  time. 
The  Morning  News  in  a  trenchant  leader  pointed  out 
the  danger  to  which  Western  Canada  was  exposed 
from  the  presence  of  these  semibarbarous  peoples 
from  Central  and  Southern  Europe,  and  expressed 
the  hope  that  the  authorities  would  deal  with  the 
present  case  in  such  a  manner  as  would  give  a  severe 
but  necessary  lesson  to  the  lawless  among  our  foreign 
population. 

There  was,  indeed,  from  the  first,  no  hope  of  ac- 
quittal. Staunton,  who  was  acting  for  the  Crown, 
was  convinced  that  the  prisoner  would  receive  the 
maximum  sentence  allowed  by  law.  And  even  O'Hara 
acknowledged  privately  to  his  solicitor  that  the  best 
he  could  hope  for  was  a  life  sentence.  "  And,  by 
gad !  he  ought  to  get  it !  It  is  the  most  damnable 
case  of  bloody  murder  that  I  have  come  across  in 
all  my  practice !  "  But  this  was  before  Mr.  O'Hara 
had  interviewed  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick. 

In  his  hunt  for  evidence  Mr.  O'Hara  had  come 
upon  his  fellow  countrywoman  in  the  foreign  colony. 


CONDEMNED  M)9 

At  first  from  sheer  delight  in  her  rich  brogue  and 
her  shrewd  native  wit,  and  afterward  from  the  mn- 
viction  that  her  testimony  might  be  turned  to  jg'ood 
account  on  behalf  of  his  client,  Mr.  O'Hara  diliguvitly 
cultivated  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick's  acquaintance.  It 
helped  their  mutual  admiration  and  their  friendlisliip 
not  a  httle  to  discover  their  common  devotion  to  '^*  the 
cause  o'  the  paythriot  in  dear  owld  Ireland,"  and 
their  mutual  interest  in  the  prisoner  Kalmar,  as  a 
fellow  "  paythriot." 

Immediately  upon  his  discovery  of  the  rich  j)ossi- 
biKties  in  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick  Mr.  O'Hara  got  himself 
invited  to  drink  a  "  cup  o'  tay,"  which,  being  made 
in  the  httle  black  teapot  brought  all  the  way  from 
Ireland,  he  pronounced  to  be  the  finest  he  had  had 
since  coming  to  Canada  fifteen  years  ago.  Indeed, 
he  declared  that  he  had  serious  doubts  as  to  the  pos- 
sibilities of  producing  on  this  side  of  the  water  and 
by  people  of  this  country  just  such  tea  as  he  had 
been  accustomed  to  drink  in  the  dear  old  land.  It 
was  over  this  cup  of  tea,  and  as  he  drew  from  Mrs. 
Fitzpatrick  the  description  of  the  scene  between  the 
Nihihst  and  his  children,  that  Mr.  O'Hara  came  to 
realise  the  vast  productivity  of  the  mine  he  had 
uncovered.  He  determined  that  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick 
should  tell  this  tale  in  court. 

"  We  '11  bate  that  divil  yet !  "  he  exclaimed  to  his 
new-found  friend,  his  brogue  taking  a  richer  flavour 
from  his  environment.     "  They  would  be  having  the 


no  THE    FOREIGNER 

Kfe  of  the  poor  man  for  letting  a  little  of  the  black 
blood  out  of  the  black  heart  of  that  traitor  and 
blackguard,  and  may  the  divil  fly  away  with  him! 
But  we  '11  bate  them  jj'ety  and  it 's  yersilf  is  the  one 
to  do  it !  "  he  exclaimed  in  growing  excitement  and 
admiration. 

At  first  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick  was  most  reluctant  to 
appear  in  court. 

"  Sure,  what  would  I  do  or  say  in  the  face  av  His 
'Anner  an'  the  joorymin,  with  niver  a  word  on  the 
tongue  av  me.''  " 

"  And  would  you  let  the  poor  man  go  to  his 
death.''  "  cried  O'Hara,  proceeding  to  draw  a  lurid 
picture  of  the  deadly  machinations  of  the  lawyer 
for  the  Crown,  Rosenblatt  and  their  associate! 
against  this  unfortunate  patriot  who,  for  love  of  hit 
country  and  for  the  honour  of  his  name,  had  sought 
to  wreak  a  well-merited  vengeance  upon  the  abject 
traitor. 

Under  his  vehement  eloquence  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick's 
Celtic  nature  kindled  into  flame.  She  would  go  to 
the  court,  and  in  the  face  of  Judge  and  jury  and  all 
the  rest  of  them,  she  would  tell  them  the  kind  of  man 
they  wore  about  to  do  to  death.  Over  and  over 
again  O'Hara  had  her  repeat  her  story,  emphasising 
with  adjurations,  oaths  and  even  tears,  those  pas- 
sages that  his  experience  told  him  would  be  most 
effective  for  his  purpose,  till  he  felt  sure  she  would 
do  full  credit  to  her  part. 


CONDEMNED  111 

During  the  trial  the  court  room  was  crowded,  not 
only  with  the  ordinary  morbid  sensation  seekers,  but 
with  some  of  Winnipeg's  most  respectable  citizens. 
In  one  corner  of  the  court  room  there  was  grouped 
day  after  day  a  small  company  of  foreigners.  Every 
man  of  Russian  blood  in  the  city  who  could  attend, 
was  there.  It  was  against  the  prisoner's  will  and 
desire,  but  in  accordance  with  O'Hara's  plan  of  de- 
fence that  Paulina  and  the  children  should  be  pres- 
ent at  every  session  of  the  court.  The  proceedings 
were  conducted  through  an  interpreter  where  it  was 
necessary,  Kalmar  pleading  ignorance  of  the  niceties 
of  the  English  language. 

The  prisoner  was  arraigned  on  the  double  charge 
of  attempted  murder  in  the  case  of  Rosenblatt,  and 
of  manslaughter  in  that  of  the  dead  Polak.  The  evi- 
dence of  Dr.  Wright  and  of  Sergeant  Cameron,  cor- 
roborated by  that  of  many  eyewitnesses,  established 
beyond  a  doubt  that  the  wound  in  Rosenblatt's  breast 
and  in  the  dead  Polak's  neck  was  done  by  the  same 
instrument,  and  that  instrument  the  spring  knife 
discovered  in  the  basement  of  Paulina's  house. 

Kalmar,  arrayed  in  his  false  black  beard,  was 
identified  by  the  Dalmatian  and  by  others  as  the 
Polak's  partner  in  the  fatal  game  of  cards.  Staun- 
ton had  little  difficulty  in  establishing  the  identity 
of  the  black-bearded  man  who  had  appeared  here  and 
there  during  the  wedding  festivities  with  Kalmar 
himself.     From  the  stupid  Paulina  he  skilfully  drew 


113  THE   FOREIGNER 

evidence  substantiating  this  fact,  and  though  this 
evidence  was  ruled  out  on  the  ground  that  she  was 
the  prisoner's  wife,  the  effect  upon  the  jury  was  not 
lost. 

The  most  damaging  testimony  was,  of  course,  that 
offered  by  Rosenblatt  himself,  and  this  evidence 
Staunton  was  clever  enough  to  use  with  dramatic 
effect.  Pale,  wasted,  and  still  weak,  Rosenblatt  told 
his  story  to  the  court  in  a  manner  that  held  the 
crowd  breathless  with  horror.  Never  had  such  a  tale 
been  told  to  Canadian  ears.  The  only  man  unmoved 
was  the  prisoner.  Throughout  the  narrative  he  main- 
tained an  attitude  of  bored  indifference. 

It  was  not  in  vain,  however,  that  O'Hara  sought 
to  weaken  the  effect  of  Rosenblatt's  testimony  by 
turning  the  light  upon  some  shady  spots  in  his  career.. 
In  his  ruthless  "  sweating  "  of  the  witness,  the  law- 
yer forced  the  admission  that  he  had  once  been  the 
friend  of  the  prisoner;  that  he  had  been  the  unsuc- 
cessful suitor  of  the  prisoner's  first  wife ;  that  he  had 
been  a  member  of  the  same  Secret  Society  in  Russia; 
that  he  had  joined  the  Secret  Service  of  the  Russian 
Government  and  had  given  evidence  leading  to  the 
breaking  up  of  that  Society;  that  he  had  furnished 
the  information  that  led  to  the  prisoner's  transpor- 
tation to  Siberia.  At  this  point  O'Hara  swiftly 
changed  his  ground. 

"  You  have  befriended  this  woman,  Paulina 
Koval?  " 


CONDEMNED  113 

«  Yes." 

"  You  have,  in  fact,  acted  as  her  financial  agent  ?  " 

"  I  have  assisted  her  in  her  financial  arrange- 
ments.    She  cannot  speak  English." 

"  Whose  house  does  she  live  in?  " 

Rosenblatt  hesitated.      "  I  am  not  sure." 

"  Whose  house  does  she  live  in.?  "  roared  O'Hara, 
stepping  toward  him. 

"  Her  own,  I  think." 

"  You  think !  "  shouted  the  lawyer.  "  You  know, 
don't  you?  You  bought  it  for  her.  You  made  the 
first  payment  upon  it,  did  you  not?  " 

"  Yes,  I  did." 

"  And  since  that  time  you  have  cashed  money 
orders  for  her  that  have  come  month  by  month?  " 

Again  Rosenblatt  hesitated.  "  I  have  some- 
times —  " 

"  Tell  the  truth !  "  shouted  O'Hara  again ;  "  a  lie 
here  can  be  easily  traced.  I  have  the  evidence.  Did 
you  not  cash  the  money  orders  that  came  month  by 
month  addressed  to  Paulina  Koval?  " 

"  I  did,  with  her  permission.    She  made  her  mark." 

"  Where  did  the  money  go  ?  " 

"  I  gave  it  to  her." 

*'  And  what  did  she  do  with  it?  " 

«  I  don't  know." 

*'  Did  she  not  give  you  money  from  time  to  time 
to  make  payments  upon  the  house?  " 

"  No." 

8 


114  THE   FOREIGNER 

**  Be  careful.  Let  me  remind  you  that  there  is  a 
law  against  perjury.  I  give  you  another  chance. 
Did  you  not  receive  certain  money  to  make  payments 
on  this  house. f* "  O'Hara  spoke  with  terrible  and 
deliberate  emphasis. 

"  I  did,  some." 

"  And  did  you  make  these  payments?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Would  you  be  surprised  to  know,  as  I  now  tell 
the  court,  that  since  the  first  payment,  made  soon 
after  the  arrival  in  the  country,  not  a  dollar  further 
had  been  paid.f^  " 

Rosenblatt  was  silent. 

"  Answer  me !  "  roared  the  lawyer.  "  Would  you 
be  surprised  to  know  tliis.^  " 

"  Yes." 

"  This  surprise  is  waiting  you.  Now  then,  who 
runs  this  house  .'^  " 

"  Paulina  Koval." 

"  Tell  me  the  truth.  Who  lets  the  rooms  in  this 
house,  and  who  is  responsible  for  the  domestic  ar- 
rangements of  the  house?  Tell  me,"  said  O'Hara, 
bearing  down  upon  the  wretched  Rosenblatt. 

"I  —  assist  —  her  —  sometimes." 

"  Then  you  are  responsible  for  the  conditions 
under  which  Paulina  Koval  has  been  forced  to  live 
during  these  three  years  ?  " 

Rosenblatt  was  silent. 

"  That  will  do,"  said  O'Hara  with  contempt  un= 
speakable. 


CONDEMNED  IW 

He  could  easily  have  made  more  out  of  his  sweat- 
ing process  had  not  the  prisoner  resolutely  for- 
bidden any  reference  to  Rosenblatt's  treatment  of 
and  relation  to  the  unfortunate  Paulina  or  the  domes- 
tic arrangements  that  he  had  introduced  into  that 
unfortunate  woman's  household.  Kalmar  was  rigid ' 
in  his  determination  that  no  stain  should  come  to  hia 
honour  in  this  regard. 

With  the  testimony  of  each  succeeding  witness  the 
cloud  overhanging  the  prisoner  grew  steadily  blacker. 
The  first  ray  of  hght  came  from  an  unexpected  quar- 
ter. It  was  during  the  examination  of  Mrs.  Fitz- 
patrick  that  O'Hara  got  his  first  opening.  It  was  a 
master  stroke  of  strategy  on  his  part  that  Mrs.  Fitz- 
patrick  was  made  to  appear  as  a  witness  for  the 
Crown,  for  the  purpose  of  establishing  the  deplorable 
and  culpable  indifference  to  and  neglect  of  his  family 
on  the  part  of  the  prisoner. 

Day  after  day  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick  had  appeared  in 
the  court,  following  the  evidence  with  rising  wrath 
against  the  Crown,  its  witnesses,  and  all  the  machin- 
ery of  prosecution.  All  unwitting  of  this  surging 
tide  of  indignation  in  the  heart  of  his  witness  the 
Crown  Counsel  summoned  her  to  the  stand.  Mr. 
Staunton's  manner  was  exceedingly  affable. 
'     "  Your  name,  Madam.?  "  he  enquired. 

"  Me  name  is  it?  "  replied  the  witness.  "  An'  don't 
je  know  me  name  as  well  as  I  do  niesilf  .f'  " 

Mr.  Staunton  smiled  pleasantly.     "  But  the  court 


116  THE   FOREIGNER 

desires  to  share  that  privilege  with  me,  so  perhaps 
you  will  be  good  enough  to  inform  the  court  of  your 
name." 

"  If  the  court  wants  me  name  let  the  court  ask  it. 
An'  if  you  want  to  tell  the  court  me  name  ye  can  plaze 
yersilf,  fer  it 's  little  I  think  av  a  man  that  '11  sit  in 
me  house  by  the  hour  forninst  mesilf  an'  me  husband 
there,  and  then  let  on  before  the  court  that  he 
does  n't  know  the  name  av  me." 

"  Why,  my  dear  Madam,"  said  the  lawyer  sooth- 
ingly, "  it  is  a  mere  matter  of  form  that  you  should 
tell  the  court  your  name." 

"  A  matter  o'  form,  is  it.?  Indade,  an'  it 's  mighty 
poor  form  it  is,  if  ye  ask  my  opinion,  which  ye  don't, 
an'  it 's  mighty  poor  manners." 

At  this  point  the  judge  interposed. 

"  Come,  come,"  he  said,  "  what  is  your  name?  I 
suppose  you  are  not  ashamed  of  it.''  " 

"  Ashamed  av  it,  Yer  'Anner !  "  said  Mrs.  Fitz- 
patrick,  with  an  elaborate  bow  to  the  judge, 
"  ashamed  av  it !  There  's  niver  a  shame  goes  with 
the  name  av  Fitzpatrick !  " 

"  Your  name  is  Fitzpatrick.?  " 

"  It  is,  Yer  'Anner.  Mistress  Timothy  Fitzpat- 
rick, Monaghan  that  was,  the  Monaghans  o'  Balhn- 
ghalereen,  which  I  'm  sure  Yer  'Anner  '11  have  heard 
of,  fer  the  intilligent  man  ye  are." 

"  Mrs.  Timothy  Fitzpatrick,"  said  the  judge,  with 
the  suspicion  of  a  smile,  writing  the  name  down. 
**  And  your  first  name  ?  " 


CONDEMNED  117 

**  Me  Christian  name  is  it?  Ah,  thin,  Judge  dear, 
wud  ye  be  wantin'  that  too?  "  smiling  at  him  in  quite 
a  coquettish  manner.  "  Sure,  if  ye  had  had  the  good 
taste  an'  good  fortune  to  be  born  in  the  County  Mayo 
ye  wud  n't  nade  to  be  askin'  the  name  av  Nora  Mona- 
ghan  o'  Ballinghalereen." 

The  judge's  face  was  now  in  a  broad  smile. 

"  Nora  Fitzpatrick,"  he  said,  writing  the  name 
down.     "  Let  us  proceed." 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick,"  said  the  counsel  for  the 
Crown,  "  will  you  kindly  look  at  the  prisoner?  " 

Mrs.  Fitzpatrick  turned  square  about  and  let  her 
eyes  rest  upon  the  prisoner's  pale  face. 

"  I  will  that,"  said  she,  "  an'  there  's  many  another 
I  'd  like  to  see  in  his  place." 

"  Do  you  know  him?  " 

"  I  do  that.  An'  a  finer  gintleman  I  niver  saw, 
savin'  Yer  'Anner's  prisence,"  bowing  to  the  judge. 

"  Oh,  indeed !  A  fine  gentleman  ?  And  how  do  you 
know  that,  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick?  " 

"  How  do  I  know  a  gintleman,  is  it?  Sure,  it 's  by 
the  way  he  trates  a  lady." 

"  Ah,"  said  the  lawyer  with  a  most  courteous  bow, 
**  that  is  a  most  excellent  test.  And  what  do  you 
know  of  this  —  ah  —  this  gentleman's  manners  with 
ladies?  " 

"  An'  don't  I  know  how  he  trates  mesilf  ?  He  's 
not  wan  to  fergit  a  lady's  name,  you  may  lay  to 
that." 


118  THE   FOREIGNER 

"  Oh,  indeed,  he  has  treated  you  in  a  gentlemanlj 
manner?  " 

"  He  has." 

"  And  do  you  think  this  is  his  usual  manner  with 
ladies?" 

"  I  do,'*  said  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick  with  great  em- 
phasis. "  A  gintleman,  a  rale  gintleman,  is  the  same 
to  a  lady  wheriver  he  mates  her,  an'  the  same  to  ladies 
whativer  they  be." 

"  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick,"  said  Mr.  Staunton,  "  you 
have  evidently  a  most  excellent  taste  in  gentlemen." 

"  I  have  that  same,"  she  replied.  "  An'  I  know 
thim  that  are  no  gintlemen,"  she  continued  with 
meaning  emphasis,  "  whativer  their  clothes  may  be." 

A  titter  ran  through  the  court  room. 

"  Silence  in  the  court !  "  shouted  the  crier. 

"  Now,  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick,"  proceeded  Mr.  Staun- 
ton, taking  a  firmer  tone,  "  you  say  the  prisoner  is 
a  gentleman." 

"  I  do.     An'  I  can  tell  ye  —  " 

"Wait,  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick.  Wait  a  moment.  Do 
you  happen  to  know  his  wife?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  You  don't  know  his  wife  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  I  do  if  you  say  so," 

"  But,  my  good  woman,  I  don't  say  so.  Do  you 
know  his  wife,  or  do  you  not  know  his  wife?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  Mr.   Staunton  im- 


CONDEIMNED  119 

patiently.  "  Do  3'^ou  mean  that  you  have  no  ac- 
quaintance with  the  wife  of  the  prisoner?  " 

"  I  might." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  might  .f*  " 

"  Aw  now,"  remonstrated  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick,  "  sure, 
ye  would  n't  be  askin'  a  poor  woman  like  me  the 
manin'  av  a  word  like  that." 

"  Now,  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick,  let  us  get  done  with  this 
fooling.  Tell  me  whether  you  know  the  prisoner's 
wife  or  not." 

"  Indade,  an'  the  sooner  yer  done  the  better  I  'd 
like  it." 

"  Well,  then,  tell  me.  You  either  know  the  pris- 
oner's wife  or  you  don't  know  her.''  " 

"  That 's  as  may  be,"  said  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick. 

"  Then  tell  me,"  thundered  Staunton,  losing  all 
patience,  "  do  you  know  this  woman  or  not.^*  "  point- 
ing to  Paulina. 

"  That  woman  is  it.? "  said  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick. 
"  An'  why  did  n't  ye  save  yer  breath  an'  His  'Anner's 
time,  not  to  shpake  av  me  own  that  has  to  work  fer 
me  daily  bread,  by  askin'  me  long  ago  if  I  know  this 
woman  ?  " 

"  Well,  do  you  know  her?  " 

"  I  do." 

"  Then  why  did  you  not  say  so  before  when  I  asked 
you?  "  said  the  exasperated  lawyer. 

"  I  did,"  said  IVIrs.  Fitzpatrick  calmly. 

"  Did  you  not  say  that  you  did  not  know  the  wife 
of  the  prisoner?  " 


120  THE   FOREIGNER 

"  I  did  not,"  said  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick. 

By  this  time  the  whole  audience,  including  the 
judge,  were  indulging  themselves  in  a  wide  open  smile. 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick,"  at  length  said  the  law- 
yer, "  I  must  be  decidedly  stupid,  for  I  fail  to  under- 
stand JJ^OU." 

"  Indade,  I  '11  not  be  contradictin'  ye,  fer  it 's  yer- 
silf  ought  to  know  best  about  that,"  replied  Mrs. 
Fitzpatrick  pleasantly. 

A  roar  of  laughter  filled  the  court  room. 

"  Silence  in  the  court !  We  must  have  order,"  said 
the  judge,  recovering  his  gravity  with  such  celerity 
as  he  could.     "  Go  on,  Mr.  Staunton." 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick,  I  understand  that  you 
know  this  woman,  Paulina  Koval." 

"  It 's  mesilf  that 's  plazed  to  hear  it." 

"  And  I  suppose  you  know  that  she  is  the  pris- 
oner's wife.^*  " 

"  An'  why  wud  ye  be  afther  supposin'  such  a 
thing.?" 

"Well!   well!    Do  you  know  it.?  " 

"  Do  I  know  what.?  " 

"  Do  you  know  that  this  woman,  Paulina  Koval,  is 
the  wife  of  the  prisoner.?  " 

"  She  might  be." 

"  Oh,  come  now,  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick,  we  are  not  split- 
ting hairs.  You  know  perfectly  well  that  this  woman 
is  the  prisoner's  wife." 

"  Indade,  an'  it 's  the  cliver  man  ye  are  to  know, 
what  I  know  better  than  I  know  mesilf.'^* 


CONDEMNED  121 

"Well,  well,"  said  Mr.  Staunton  impatiently, 
**  will  you  say  that  you  do  not  consider  this  woman 
the  prisoner's  wife?  " 

"  I  will  not,"  replied  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick  emphati- 
cally, "  any  more  than  I  won't  say  she  's  yer  own." 

"  Well,  well,  let  us  get  on.  Let  us  suppose  that 
this  woman  is  his  wife.  How  did  the  prisoner  treat 
this  woman  ?  " 

"  An'  how  should  he  trate  her.'*  " 

"  Did  he  support  her?  " 

"  An'  why  should  he,  with  her  havin'  two  hands  av 
her  own?  " 

"  Well  now,  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick,  surely  you  will  say 
that  it  was  a  case  of  cruel  neglect  on  the  part  of  the 
prisoner  that  he  should  leave  her  to  care  for  herself 
and  her  children,  a  stranger  in  a  strange  land." 

"  Indade,  it 's  not  fer  me  to  be  runnin'  down  the 
counthry,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick.  "  Sure,  it 's 
a  good  land,  an'  a  foine  counthry  it  is  to  make  a  livin' 
in,"  she  continued  with  a  glow  of  enthusiasm,  "  an' 
it 's  mesilf  that  knows  it." 

"  Oh,  the  country  is  all  right,"  said  Mr.  Staunton 
impatiently ;  "  but  did  not  this  man  abandon  his 
wife?  " 

"  An'  if  he  's  the  man  ye  think  he  is  wud  n't  she  be 
the  better  quit  av  him  ?  " 

The  lawyer  had  reached  the  limit  of  his  patience. 

"  Well,  well,  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick,  we  will  leave  the 
wife  alone.  But  what  of  his  treatment  of  the 
children?  " 


122  THE   FOREIGNER 

"The  childer?  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick, — 
"  the  childer,  is  it  ?  Man  dear,  but  he  's  the  thrue 
gintleman  an'  the  tinder-hearted  father  fer  his  chil- 
der, an'  so  he  is." 

"  Oh,  indeed,  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick.  I  am  sure  we  shall 
all  be  delighted  to  hear  this.  But  you  certainly  have 
strange  views  of  a  father's  duty  toward  his  children. 
Now  will  you  tell  the  court  upon  what  ground  you 
would  extol  his  parental  virtues?  " 

"  Faix,  it 's  niver  a  word  I  've  said  about  his  pa- 
rental virtues,  or  any  other  kind  o'  virtues.  I  was 
taikin'  about  his  childer." 

"  Well,  then,  perhaps  you  would  be  kind  enough 
to  tell  the  court  what  reason  you  have  for  approving 
his  treatment  of  his  children.''  " 

Mrs.  Fitzpatrick's  opportunity  had  arrived.  She 
heaved  a  great  sigh,  and  with  some  deliberation 
began. 

"  Och!  thin,  an'  it 's  just  terrible  heart-rendin'  an' 
so  it  is.  An'  it 's  mesilf  that  can  shpake,  havin'  tin 
av  me  own,  forby  three  that 's  dead  an'  gone,  God 
rest  their  sowls !  an'  four  that 's  married,  an'  the 
rest  all  doin'  well  fer  thimsilves.  Indade,  it 's  m.esilf 
that  has  the  harrt  fer  the  childer.  You  will  be  havin' 
childer  av  yer  own,"  she  added  confidentially  to  the 
lawyer. 

A  shout  of  laughter  filled  the  court  room,  for 
Staunton  was  a  confirmed  and  notorious  old  bachelor. 

"  I  have  the  bad  fortune,  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick,  to  bo 
a  bachelor,"  he  replied,  red  to  the  ears. 


CONDEMNED  1«3 

"  Man  dear,  but  it 's  hard  upon  yez,  but  it 's 
Hivin's  mercy  fer  yer  wife." 

The  laughter  that  followed  could  with  difficulty  be 
suppressed  by  the  court  crier. 

"  Go  on,  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick,  go  on  with  your  tale," 
said  Staunton,  who  had  frankly  joined  in  the  laugh 
against  himself. 

"  I  will  that,"  said  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick  with  emphasis. 
*'  Where  was  I  ?  The  man  an'  his  childer.  Sure,  I  '11 
tell  Ycr  'Anner."  Here  she  turned  to  the  judge. 
"Fer  he,"  with  a  jerk  of  her  thumb  towards  the 
lawyer,  "  knows  no  thin'  about  the  business  at  all, 
at  all.  It  was  wan  night  he  came  to  me  house  askin' 
to  see  his  childer.  The  night  o'  the  dance,  Yer 
'Anner.  As  I  was  sayin',  he  came  to  me  house  where 
the  childer  was,  askin'  to  see  thim,  an'  him  without 
a  look  o'  thim  fer  years.  An'  did  they  know  him.?  " 
Mrs.  Fitzpatrick's  voice  took  a  tragic  tone.  "  Not 
a  hair  av  thim.  Not  at  the  first.  Ah,  but  it  was 
the  harrt-rendin'  scene,  with  not  a  house  nor  a  home 
fer  him  to  come  till,  an'  him  sendin'  the  money  ivery 
month  to  ptiy  fer  it.  But  where  it 's  gone,  it 's  not 
fer  me  to  say.  There  's  some  in  this  room  "  (here 
she  regarded  Rosenblatt  with  a  steady  eye),  "might 
know  more  about  that  money  an'  what  happened  till 
it,  than  they  know  about  Hi^an.  Ah,  but  as  I  was 
sayin',  it  wud  melt  the  harrt  av  a  Kerry  steer,  that 's 
first  cousin  to  the  goats  on  the  hills  fer  wildness,  to 
Bee  the  way  he  tuk  thim  an'  held  thim,  an'  wailed 


124  THE   FOREIGNER 

over  thim,  the  tinder  harrt  av  him!  Fer  only  wan 
small  hour  or  two  could  he  shtay  wid  thim,  an'  then 
aff  to  that  haythen  counthry  agin  that  gave  him 
birth.  An'  the  way  he  suffered  fer  that  same,  poor 
dear !  An'  the  beautiful  wife  he  lost !  Hivin  be  kind 
to  her!  Not  her,"  following  the  judge's  glance 
toward  Paulina,  "  but  an  angel  that  need  niver  feel 
shame  to  shtand  befure  the  blissid  Payther  himsilf, 
wid  the  blue  eyes  an'  the  golden  hair  in  the  picter  he 
carries  nixt  his  harrt,  the  saints  have  pity  on  him! 
An'  how  he  suffered  fer  the  good  cause !  Och  hone ! 
it  breaks  me  harrt !  "  Here  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick  paused 
to  wipe  away  her  tears. 

"  But,  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick,"  interrupted  Mr.  Staun- 
ton, "  this  is  all  very  fine,  but  what  has  this  to  do  —  " 

"Tut!  man,  isn't  it  that  same  I'm  tellin'  ye.''" 
And  on  she  went,  going  back  to  the  scene  she  had 
witnessed  in  her  own  room  between  Kalmar  and  his 
children,  and  describing  the  various  dramatis  per- 
sona and  the  torrential  emotions  that  had  swept 
their  hearts  in  that  scene  of  final  parting  between 
father  and  children. 

Again  and  again  Staunton  sought  to  stay  her  elo- 
quence, but  with  a  majestic  wave  of  her  hand  she 
swept  him  aside,  and  with  a  wealth  of  metaphor  and 
an  unbroken  flow  of  passionate,  tear-bedewed  rhetoric 
that  Staunton  himself  might  well  envy,  she  held  the 
court  under  her  sway.  Many  of  the  women  present 
were  overcome  with  emotion.     O'Hara  openly  wiped 


CONDEMNED  125 

away  his  tears,  keeping  an  anxious  eye  the  wliile  upon 
the  witness  and  waiting  the  psychological  moment 
for  the  arresting  of  her  tale. 

The  moment  came  when  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick's  emo- 
tions rendered  her  speechless.  With  a  great  show 
of  sympathy,  Mr.  O'Hara  approached  the  witness, 
and  offering  her  a  glass  of  water,  found  opportunity 
to  whisper,  "  Not  another  word,  on  your  soul." 

"  Surely,"  he  said,  appealing  to  the  judge  in  a 
voice  trembling  with  indignant  feeling,  "  my  learned 
friend  wiU  not  further  harass  this  witness." 

"  Let  her  go,  in  Heaven's  name,"  said  Staunton 
testily ;   "  we  want  no  more  of  her." 

"  So  I  should  suppose,"  repUed  O'Hara  drily. 

With  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick,  the  case  for  the  Crown 
was  closed.  To  the  surprise  of  all,  and  especially  of 
the  Counsel  for  the  Crown,  O'Hara  called  no  wit- 
nesses and  offered  no  evidence  in  rebuttal  of  that 
before  the  court.  This  made  it  necessary  for  Staun- 
ton to  go  on  at  once  with  his  final  address  to  the 
jury. 

Seldom  in  all  his  experience  had  he  appeared  to 
such  poor  advantage  as  on  that  day.  The  court  was 
still  breathing  the  atmosphere  of  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick's 
rude  and  impassioned  appeal.  The  lawyer  was  still 
feeling  the  sting  of  his  humiliating  failure  with  his 
star  witness,  and  O'Hara's  unexpected  move  sur- 
prised and  flustered  him,  old  hand  as  he  was.  With 
halting  words  and  without  his  usual  assurance,  he 


126  THE   FOREIGNER 

reviewed  the  evidence  and  asked  for  a  conviction  on 
both  charges. 

With  O'Hara  it  was  quite  otherwise.  It  was  in 
just  such  a  desperate  situation  that  he  was  at  his 
best.  The  phght  of  the  prisoner,  lonely,  beaten  and 
defenceless,  appealed  to  his  chivalry.  Then,  too, 
O'Hara,  by  blood  and  tradition,  was  a  revolutionist. 
In  every  "  rising  "  during  the  last  two  hundred  years 
of  Ireland's  struggles,  some  of  liis  ancestors  had  car- 
ried a  pike  or  trailed  a  musket,  and  the  rebel  blood 
in  him  cried  sympathy  with  the  Nihilist  in  his  devo- 
tion to  a  hopeless  cause.  And  hence  the  passion  and 
the  almost  tearful  vehemence  that  he  threw  into  his 
final  address  were  something  more  than  professional. 

With  great  skill  he  took  his  cue  from  the  evidence 
of  the  last  witness.  He  drew  a  picture  of  the  Rus- 
sian Nihilist  hunted  like  "  a  partridge  on  the  moun- 
tains," seeking  for  himself  and  his  compatriots  a 
home  and  safety  in  this  land  of  liberty.  With  vehe- 
ment scorn  he  told  the  story  of  the  base  treachery  of 
Rosenblatt,  "  a  Government  spy,  a  thief,  a  debaucher 
of  women,  and  were  I  permitted,  gentlemen,  I  could 
unfold  a  tale  in  this  connection  such  as  would  wring 
your  hearts  with  grief  and  indignation.  But  n)y 
client  will  not  permit  that  the  veil  be  drawn  from 
scenes  that  would  bring  shame  to  the  honoured  name 
he  wears." 

With  consummate  art  the  lawyer  turned  the  minds 
of  the  jury  from  the  element  of  personal  vengeanco 


CONDEMNED  127 

in  the  crime  committed  to  that  of  retribution  'or 
poHtical  infidelity,  till  under  his  manipulation  the  pris- 
oner was  made  to  appear  in  the  role  of  patriot  and 
martyr  doomed  to  suffer  for  his  devotion  to  his  cause. 
"  But,  gentlemen,  though  I  might  appeal  to  your 
passions,  I  scorn  to  do  so.  I  urge  you  to  weigh 
cahnly,  dehberately,  as  cool,  level-headed  Canadians, 
the  evidence  produced  by  the  prosecution.  A  crime 
has  been  committed,  a  most  revolting  crime,  —  one 
man  killed,  another  seriously  wounded.  But  what  is 
the  nature  of  this  crime?  Has  it  been  shown  either 
to  be  murder  or  attempted  murder.'*  You  must  have 
noticed,  gentlemen,  how  utterly  the  prosecution  has 
failed  to  establish  any  such  charge.  The  suggestion 
of  murder  comes  solely  from  the  man  who  has  so 
deeply  wronged  and  has  pursued  with  such  deadly 
venom  the  unfortunate  prisoner  at  the  bar.  This 
man,  after  betraying  the  cause  of  freedom,  after 
wrecking  the  prisoner's  home  and  family,  after  prov- 
ing traitor  to  every  trust  imposed  in  him,  now  seeks 
to  fasten  upon  liis  victim  this  horrid  crime  of  mur- 
der. His  is  the  sole  e\idence.  What  sort  of  man  is 
this  upon  whose  unsupported  testimony  you  are  asked 
to  send  a  fellow  human  being  to  the  scaffold.''  Think 
calmly,  gentlemen,  is  he  such  a  man  as  you  can 
readily  believe  ?  Is  his  highly  coloured  story  credible  ? 
Are  you  so  gullible  as  to  be  taken  in  with  this  melo- 
drama? Gentlemen,  I  know  you,  I  know  my  fellow 
citizens  too  well  to  think  that  you  will  be  so  deceived- 


128  THE    FOREIGNER 

'^  Now  what  are  the  facts,  the  bare  facts,  the 
cold  facts,  gentlemen?  And  we  are  here  to  deal  with 
facts.  Here  they  are.  There  is  a  wedding.  My 
learned  friend  is  not  interested  in  weddings,  not  per- 
haps as  much  interested  as  he  should  be,  and  as  such, 
apparently,  he  excites  the  pity  of  his  friends." 

This  sally  turned  all  eyes  towards  Mrs.  Fitzpat-  ' 
rick,  and  a  broad  smile  spread  over  the  court. 

"  There  is  a  wedding,  as  I  was  saying.  Unhappily 
the  wedding  feast,  as  is  too  often  the  case  with  our 
foreign  citizens,  degenerates  into  a  drunken  brawl. 
It  is  a  convenient  occasion  for  paying  off  old  scores. 
There  is  general  melee,  a  scrap,  in  short.  Suddenly 
these  two  men  come  face  to  face,  their  passions  in- 
flamed. On  the  one  hand  there  is  a  burning  sense  of 
wrong,  on  the  other  an  unquenchable  hate.  For, 
gentlemen,  remember,  the  man  that  hates  you  most 
venomously  is  the  man  who  has  wronged  you  most 
deeply.  These  two  meet.  There  is  a  fight.  When 
all  is  over,  one  man  is  found  dead,  another  with  a 
wound  in  his  breast.  But  who  struck  the  first  blow? 
None  can  tell.  We  are  absolutely  without  evidence 
upon  this  point.  In  regard  to  the  Polak,  all  that  can 
be  said  is  this,  that  it  was  a  most  unfortunate  occur- 
rence. The  attempt  to  connect  the  prisoner  with 
this  man's  death  has  utterly  failed.  In  regard  to 
the  man  Rosenblatt,  dismissing  his  absurdly  tragic 
story,  what  evidence  has  been  brought  before  this 
court  that  there  was  any  deliberate  attempt  at  mur- 


CONDEMNED  129 

der?  A  blow  was  struck,  but  by  whom?  No  one 
knows.  What  was  the  motive?  Was  it  in  self- 
defence  warding  off  some  murderous  attack?  No  one 
can  say.  I  have  as  much  right  to  believe  that  this 
was  the  case,  as  any  man  to  believe  the  contrary. 
Indeed,  from  what  we  know  of  the  character  of  this 
wretched  traitor  and  thief,  it  is  not  hard  to  believe 
that  the  attack  upon  this  stranger  would  come  from 
him." 

And  so  O'Hara  proceeded  with  his  most  extraor- 
dinary defence.  Theory  after  theory  he  advanced, 
quoting  instance  after  instance  of  extraordinary  kill- 
ings that  were  discovered  to  be  accidental  or  in  self- 
defence,  till  with  the  bewildered  jury  no  theory  ex- 
planatory of  the  crime  committed  in  the  basement  of 
Pauhna's  house  was  too  fantastic  to  be  considered 
possible. 

In  his  closing  appeal  O'Hara  carried  the  jury  back 
to  the  point  from  which  he  had  set  out.  With  tears 
in  his  voice  he  recounted  the  scene  of  the  parting 
between  the  prisoner  and  his  children.  He  drew  a 
harrowing  picture  of  the  unhappy  fate  of  wife  and 
children  left  defenceless  and  in  poverty  to  become 
the  prey  of  such  men  as  Rosenblatt.  He  drew  a  vivid 
picture  of  that  age-long  struggle  for  freedom  car- 
ried on  by  the  down-trodden  peasantr}^  of  Russia, 
and  closed  with  a  tremendous  appeal  to  them  as 
fathers,  as  lovers  of  liberty,  as  fair-minded,  reason- 
able men  to  allow  the  prisoner  the  full  benefit  of  the 


ISO  THE   FOREIGNER 

many  doubts  gathering  round  the  case  for  the  prose- 
cution, and  set  him  free. 

It  was  a  magnificent  effort.  Never  in  all  his  career 
as  a  criminal  lawyer  had  O'Hara  made  so  brilliant 
an  attempt  to  lift  a  desperate  case  from  the  region 
of  despair  into  that  of  hope.  The  effect  of  his  ad- 
dress was  plainly  visible  upon  the  jury  and,  indeed, 
upon  the  whole  audience  in  the  court  room. 

The  judge's  charge  did  much  to  clear  the  atmos- 
phere, and  to  bring  the  jury  back  to  the  cold,  calm 
air  of  Canadian  life  and  feeling;  but  in  the  jury 
room  the  emotions  and  passions  aroused  by  O'Hara's 
address  were  kindled  again,  and  the  result  reflected 
ha  no  small  degree  their  influence. 

The  verdict  acquitted  the  prisoner  of  the  charge 
of  manslaughter,  but  found  him  guilty  on  the  count 
of  attempted  murder.  The  verdict,  however,  was 
terap-ered  with  a  strong  recommendation  to  mercy. 

"  Have  you  anything  to  say  ?  "  asked  the  j  iidge 
before  pronouncing  sentence. 

Kalmar,  who  had  been  deeply  impressed  by  the 
judge's  manner  during  his  charge  to  the  jury, 
searched  his  face  a  moment  and  then,  as  if  abandon- 
ing all  hope  of  mere}'',  drew  himself  erect  and  in  his 
stilted  English  said :  "  Your  Exccllenc}^,  I  make  no 
petition  for  mercy.  Let  the  criminal  make  such  a 
plea.  I  stand  convicted  of  crime,  but  I  am  no  crim- 
inal. The  traitor,  the  thief,  the  liar,  the  murderer, 
the  criminal,  sits  there."     As  he  spoke  the  word,  he 


condp:mned  isi 

BTning  sharply  about  and  stood  with  outstretched 
arm  and  finger  pointing  to  Rosenblatt.  "  I  stand 
here  the  officer  of  vengeance.  I  have  failed.  Ven- 
geance will  not  fail.  The  day  is  coming  when  it  will 
strike."  Then  turning  his  face  toward  the  group  of 
foreig-ners  at  the  back  of  the  room  he  raised  his 
voice  and  in  a  high  monotone  chanted  a  few  sentences 
in  the  Russian  tongue. 

The  effect  was  tremendous.  Every  Russian  could 
be  picked  out  by  his  staring  eyes  and  pallid  face. 
There  was  a  moment's  silence,  then  a  hissing  sound 
as  of  the  breath  drawn  sharply  inward,  followed  by 
a  murmur  hoarse  and  inhuman,  not  good  to  hear. 
Rosenblatt  trembled,  started  to  his  feet,  vainly  tried 
to  speak.  His  lips  refused  to  frame  words,  and  he 
sank  back  speechless. 

"What  the  deuce  was  he  saying?"  enquired 
O'Hara  of  the  Interpreter  after  the  judge  had  pro- 
nounced his  solemn  sentence. 

"  He  was  putting  to  them,"  said  the  Interpreter 
in  an  awed  whisper,  "  the  Nihilist  oath  of  death." 

"By  Jove!  Good  thing  the  judge  didn't  under- 
stand. The  bloody  fool  would  have  spoiled  all  my 
fine  work.  He  would  have  got  a  life  term  instead 
of  fourteen  years.  He  's  got  enough,  though,  poor 
chap.     I  wish  to  Heaven  the  other  fellow  had  got  it." 

As  the  prisoner  turned  with  the  officer  to  leave  the 
dock,  a  wild  sobbing  fell  upon  his  ear.  It  was  Pan- 
Kna.    Kalmar  turned  to  the  judge. 


132  THE   FOREIGNER 

"  Is  it  permitted  that  I  see  my  children  before  — 
before  I  depart?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  judge  quickly.  "  Your  wife 
and  children  and  your  friends  may  visit  you  at  a 
convenient  hour  to-morrow." 

Kalmar  bowed  with  grave  courtesy  and  walked 
away. 

Beside  the  sobbing  Paulina  sat  the  children,  pale 
and  bewildered. 

"  Where  is  my  father  going?  "  asked  the  boy  in 
Russian. 

"  Alas !  alas !  We  shall  see  him  no  more !  "  sobbed 
Paulina. 

Quickly  the  boy's  voice  rang  out,  shrill  with  grief 
and  terror,  "  Father !    father !     Come  back !  " 

The  prisoner,  who  was  just  disappearing  through 
the  door,  stopped,  turned  about,  his  pale  face  con- 
vulsed with  a  sudden  agony.  He  took  a  step  toward 
his  son,  who  had  run  toward  the  bar  after  him. 

"  My  son,  be  brave,"  he  said  in  a  voice  audible 
throughout  the  room.  "  Be  brave.  I  shall  see  you 
to-morrow." 

He  waved  his  hand  toward  his  son,  turned  again 
,,  and  passed  out  with  the  officer. 

Through  the  staring  crowd  came  a  little  lady 
with  white  hair  and  a  face  pale  and  chastened  into 
sweetness. 

"  Let  me  come  with  you,"  she  said  to  Paulina,  while 
the  tears  coursed  down  her  cheeks. 


CONDEMNED  135 

The  Galician  woman  understood  not  a  word,  but  the 
touch  upon  her  arm,  the  tone  in  the  voice,  the  flov/ing 
tears  were  a  language  she  could  understand.  7  aulina 
raised  her  dull,  tear-dimmed  eyes,  and  for  a  brief 
moment  gazed  into  the  pale  face  above  her,  then 
without  further  word  rose  and,  followed  by  her  chil- 
dren, accompanied  the  little  lady  from  the  room,  the 
crowd  making  respectful  way  before  the  pathetic 
group. 

"  Say,  O'Hara,  there  are  still  angels  going  about," 
said  young  Dr.  Wright,  following  the  group  with 
his  eyes. 

"  Be  Hivin !  "  replied  the  tender-hearted  Irishman, 
his  eyes  suddenly  dim,  "  there  's  wan  annyway,  and 
Margaret  French  is  the  first  two  letters  of  her 
name." 


1S4  THE    FOREIGNER 


CHAPTER    VIII 

THE    PEICE    OF    VENGEANCE 

DR.  WRIGHT'S  telephone  rang  early  next 
morning.  The  doctor  was  prompt  to  respond. 
His  practice  had  not  yet  reached  the  stage  that  ren- 
dered the  telephone  a  burden.  His  young  wife  stood 
beside  him,  listening  with  eager  hope  in  her  wide- 
open  brown  eyes. 

"Yes,"  said  the  doctor.  "Oh,  it's  you.  De- 
lighted to  hear  your  ring."  "  No,  not  so  terribly. 
The  rush  does  n't  begin  till  later  in  the  day."  "  Not 
at  all.  What  ran  I  do  for  you.?  "  "  Certainly,  de- 
lighted." "What.?  Right  away.?"  "Well,  say 
within  an  hour." 

"  Who  is  it .?  "  aslced  his  wife,  as  the  doctor  hung 
up  the  phone.    "  A  new  family .?  " 

"  No  such  luck,"  rephed  the  doctor.  "  This  has 
been  a  frightfully  healthy  season.  But  the  spring 
promises  a  very  satisfactory  typhoid  epidemic." 

"  Who  is  it .?  "  said  his  wife  again,  impatiently. 

"  Your  friend  Mrs.  French,  inviting  me  to  an  ex- 
pedition into  the  foreign  colony." 

*'  Oh !  '*     She  could  not  keep  the  disappointment 


THE   PRICE   OF  \T]:NGEANCE  135 

out  of  her  tone.  "  I  tliink  Mrs.  French  might  call 
some  of  the  other  doctors." 

*'  So  she  does,  lots  of  them.  And  most  of  them 
stand  ready  to  obey  her  calL" 

"  Well,"  said  the  little  woman  at  his  side,  "  I  think 
you  are  going  too  much  among  those  awful  people." 

"  Awful  people.''  "  exclaimed  the  doctor.  "  It 's 
awfully  good  practice,  I  know.  That  is,  in  certaia 
lines.  I  can't  say  there  is  very  much  variety.  When 
a  really  good  thing  occurs,  it  is  whisked  off  to  the 
hospital  and  the  big  guns  get  it." 

"  Well,  I  don't  like  your  going  so  much,"  per- 
sisted his  wife.     "  Some  day  you  will  get  hurt." 

"  Hurt.?  "  exclaimed  the  doctor.     "  Me.?  " 

"  Oh,  I  know  you  tliink  nothing  can  hurt  you.  But 
a  bullet  or  a  knife  can  do  for  you  as  well  as  for  any 
one  else.  Supposing  that  terrible  man  —  what 's  his 
name  ?  —  Kahnar  —  had  struck  you  instead  of  the 
Polak,  where  would  you  be?  " 

"  The  question  is,  where  would  he  be.?  "  said  the 
doctor  with  a  smile.  "  As  for  Kalmar,  he  's  not  too 
bad  a  sort ;  at  least  there  are  others  a  little  worse. 
I  should  n't  be  surprised  if  that  fellow  Rosenblatt 
got  only  a  little  less  than  he  deserved.  Certainly 
O'Hara  let  in  some  light  upon  his  moral  ulcers." 

"  Well,  I  wish  you  would  drop  them,  anyway," 
continued  his  wife. 

"  No,  you  don't,"  said  the  doctor.  "  You  know 
quite  well  that  you  would  root  me  out  of  bed  any 


136  THE   FOREIGNER 

hour  of  the  night  to  see  any  of  their  kiddies  that  hap- 
pened to  have  a  pain  in  their  Httle  tumtums.  Be- 
tween you  and  Mrs.  French  I  have  n't  a  moment  to 
devote  to  my  large  and  growing  practice." 

"What  does  she  want  now.''"  It  must  be  con- 
fessed that  her  tone  v/as  shghtly  impatient. 

"  Mrs.  French  has  succeeded  in  getting  the  excel- 
lent Mrs.  Blazowsld  to  promise  for  the  tenth  time, 
I  believe,  to  allow  some  one,  preferably  myself,  to 
take  her  eczematic  children  to  the  hospital." 

"  Well,  she  won't." 

"  I  think  it  is  altogether  likely.  But  why  do  you 
think  so?" 

*'  Because  you  have  tried  before." 

^'  Never." 

^^  Well,  Mrs.  French  has,  and  you  were  with  her." 

"  That  is  correct.  But  to-day  I  shall  adopt  new 
tactics.  Mrs.  French's  flank  movements  have  broken 
down.  I  shall  carry  the  position  with  a  straight 
frontal  attack.  And  I  shall  succeed.  If  not,  my 
dear,  that  little  fur  tippet  thing  which  you  have  so 
resolutely  refused  to  let  your  eyes  rest  upon  as  we 
pass  the  Hudson's  Bay,  is  yours." 

"  I  don't  want  it  a  bit,"  said  his  wife.  "  And  you 
know  w&  can't  afford  it." 

"  Don't  you  worry,  little  girl,"  said  the  doctor 
cheerfully,  "  practice  is  looking  up.  My  name  is 
getting  into  the  papers.  A  few  more  foreign  wed- 
dings with  attendant  killings  and  I  shall  be  famous." 


THE   PRICE   OF   VENGEANCE  137 

At  the  Blazowski  shack  Mrs.  French  was  waiting 
the  doctor,  and  in  despair.  A  crowd  of  children 
appeared  to  fill  the  shack  and  overflow  through  the 
door  into  the  sunny  space  outside,  on  the  sheltered 
side  of  the  house. 

The  doctor  made  Iiis  way  through  them  and  passed 
'  into  the  evil-smelling,  filthy  room.  For  Mrs.  Bla- 
zowski found  it  a  task  beyond  her  abihty  to  perform 
the  domestic  duties  attaching  to  the  care  of  seven 
children  and  a  like  number  of  boarders  in  her  single 
room.  Mrs.  French  was  seated  on  a  stool  with  a  little 
child  of  three  years  upon  her  knee. 

"  Doctor,  don't  you  think  that  these  children 
ought  to  go  to  the  hospital  to-day.''  "  she  said,  as  the 
doctor  entered. 

"  Why,  sure  thing ;  they  must  go.  Let 's  look  at 
them." 

He  tried  to  take  the  little  child  from  Mrs.  French's 
knee,  but  the  little  one  vehemently  objected. 

"  Well,  let 's  look  at  you,  anyway,"  said  the  doc- 
tor, proceeding  to  unwind  some  filthy  rags  from 
the  little  one's  head.  "  Great  Scott !  "  he  exclaimed 
in  a  low  voice,  "  this  is  truly  awful ! " 

The  hair  was  matted  with  festering  scabs.  The 
ears,  the  eyes,  the  fingers  were  full  of  running  sores. 

"  I  had  no  idea  this  thing  had  gone  so  far,"  he  said 
in  a  horrified  voice. 

"  What  is  it?  "  said  Mrs.  French.     "  Is  it  —  " 

**  No,  not  itch.     It  is  the  industrious  and  perse- 


138  THE   FOREIGNER 

veering  eczema  pusculosum,  known  to  the  laity  as  salt 
rheum  of  the  domestic  variety." 

"  It  has  certainly  got  worse  tliis  last  week,"  said 
Mrs.  French. 

"  Well,  this  can't  go  on  another  day,  and  I  can't 
treat  her  here.  She  must  go.  Tell  your  mother," 
said  the  doctor  in  a  decided  tone  to  a  little  girl  of 
thirteen  who  stood  near. 

Mrs.  Blazowski  threw  up  her  hands  with  voluble 
protestation.  "  She  says  they  will  not  go.  She  put 
grease  on  and  make  them  all  right." 

"  Grease !  "  exclaimed  the  doctor.  "  I  should  say 
so,  and  a  good  many  other  things  too!  Why,  the 
girl's  head  is  alive  with  them !  Heavens  above !  "  said 
the  doctor,  turning  to  Mrs.  French,  "  she  's  running 
over  with  vermin !    Let 's  see  the  other." 

He  turned  to  a  girl  of  five,  whose  head  and  face 
were  even  more  seriously  affected  with  the  dread 
disease. 

"  Why,  bless  my  soul !  This  girl  will  lose  her  eye- 
sight !  Now  look  here,  these  children  must  go  to  the 
hospital,  and  must  go  now.  Tell  your  mother  what 
I  say." 

Again  the  little  girl  translated,  and  again  thfi 
mother  made  emphatic  reply. 

"  What  does  she  say.-'  " 

"  She  say  she  not  let  them  go.  She  fix  them  her- 
self.    Fix  them  all  right." 

"  Perhaps  we  better  wait,  Doctor,"  interposed  Mrs, 


THE   PRICE   OF   VENGEANCE  1S9 

French.  "  I  '11  talk  to  her  and  we  '11  try  another 
day." 

"  No,"  said  the  doctor,  catching  up  a  shawl  and 
wrapping  around  the  little  girl,  "  she  's  going  with 
me  now.  There  will  be  a  scrap,  and  you  will  have  to 
get  in.     I  '11  back  you  up." 

As  the  doctor  caught  up  the  little  child,  the  mother 
shouted,  "  No,  no !     Not  go !  " 

"  I  say  yes,"  said  the  doctor ;  "  I  '11  get  a  police- 
man and  put  you  all  in  prison.     Tell  her." 

The  threat  made  no  impression  upon  the  mother. 
On  the  contrary,  as  the  doctor  moved  toward  the 
door  she  seized  a  large  carving-knife  and  threw  her- 
self before  him.  For  a  moment  or  two  they  stood 
facing  each  other,  the  doctor  uncertain  what  liis 
next  move  should  be,  but  determined  that  his  plan 
should  not  fail  this  time.  It  was  Mrs.  French  who 
interposed.  With  a  smile  she  laid  her  hand  upon  the 
mother's  arm. 

"  Tell  her,"  she  said  to  the  little  girl,  "  that  I  will 
go  with  the  children,  and  I  promise  that  no  hurt 
shall  come  to  them.  And  I  will  bring  them  back 
again  safe.  Your  mother  can  come  and  see  them  to- 
morroAv  —  to-day.  The  hospital  is  a  lovely  place. 
They  will  have  nice  toys,  dolls,  and  nice  things  to 
eat,  and  we  '11  make  them  better." 

Rapidly,  almost  breatlilessly,  and  with  an  eager 
smile  on  her  sweet  face,  Mrs.  French  went  on  to  de- 
scribe the  advantages  and  attractions  of  the  hospital, 
pausing  only  to  allow  the  little  girl  to  translate. 


140  THE   FOREIGNER 

At  length  the  mother  relented,  her  face  softened. 
She  stepped  from  the  door,  laying  down  her  knife 
upon  the  table,  moved  not  by  the  glowing  picture  of 
Mrs.  French's  words,  but  by  the  touch  upon  her  arm 
and  the  face  that  smiled  into  hers.  Once  more  the 
mother  spoke. 

"  Will  you  go  too  ?  "  interpreted  the  little  girl. 

"  Yes,  surely.     I  go  too,"  she  rej3licd. 

This  brought  the  mother's  final  surrender.  She 
seized  Mrs.  French's  hand,  and  bursting  into  loud 
weeping,  kissed  it  again  and  again.  Mrs.  French  put 
her  arms  around  the  weeping  woman,  and  unshrink- 
ing, kissed  the  tear-stained,  dirty  face.  Dr.  Wright 
looked  on  in  admiring  silence. 

"  You  are  a  dead  sport,"  he  said.  "  I  can't  play  up 
to  that;  but  you  excite  my  ambition.  Get  a  shawl 
around  the  other  kiddie  and  come  along,  or  I  '11  find 
myself  kissing  the  bunch." 

Once  more  he  started  toward  the  door,  but  the 
mother  was  before  him,  talking  and  gesticulating. 

*'  What 's  the  rov/  now.?  "  said  the  doctor,  turning 
to  the  little  interpreter. 

"  She  says  she  must  dress  them,  make  them  clean." 

"  It 's  a  big  order,"  said  the  doctor,  "  but  I 
submit." 

With  great  energy  Mrs.  Blazowski  proceeded  to 
prepare  her  children  for  their  momentous  venture 
into  the  world.  The  washing  process  was  simple 
enough.     From  the  dish-pan  which  stood  upon  the 


THE   PRICE   OF   VENGEANCE  141 

hearth  half  full  of  dirty  water  and  some  of  the  break- 
fast dishes,  she  took  a  greasy  dish-cloth,  wrung  it 
out  carefully,  and  with  it  proceeded  to  wash,  not  un- 
tenderly,  the  festering  heads,  faces  and  fingers  of 
her  children,  resorting  from  time  to  time  to  the  dish- 
pan  for  a  fresh  supply  of  water.  This  done,  she  care- 
fully dried  the  parts  thus  diligently  washed  with  the 
handkerchief  wliich  she  usually  wore  about  her  head. 
Then  pinning  shawls  about  their  heads,  she  had  her 
children  ready  for  their  departure,  and  gave  them 
into  Mrs.  French's  charge,  sobbing  aloud  as  if  she 
might  never  see  them  more. 

"  Well,"  said  the  doctor,  as  he  drove  rapidly  away, 
"  we  're  well  out  of  that.  I  was  j  ust  figuring  what 
sort  of  hold  would  be  most  fatal  to  the  old  lady  when 
you  interposed." 

"  Poor  thing !  "  said  Mrs.  French.  "  They  're  very 
fond  of  their  children,  these  Galicians,  and  they  're 
so  suspicious  of  us.     They  don't  know  any  better." 

As  they  passed  Paulina's  house,  the  little  girl  Irma 
ran  out  from  the  door. 

"  My  mother  want  you  very  bad,"  she  said  to  Mrs. 
French. 

'      "  Tell  her  I  '11  come  in  this  afternoon,"  said  Mrs. 
French. 

"  She  want  you  now,"  replied  Ii-ma,  with  such  a 
look  of  anxiety  upon  her  face  that  Mrs.  French  was 
constrained  to  say,  "  Wait  one  moment,  Doctor.  I  '11 
Bee  what  it  is.    I  shall  not  keep  you." 


142  THE   FOREIGNER 

She  ran  into  the  house,  followed  by  the  little  girl. 
The  room  was  full  of  men  who  stood  about  in  stolid 
but  not  unsympathetic  silence,  gazing  upon  Paulina, 
who  appeared  to  be  prostrated  with  grief.  Beside 
her  stood  the  lad  Kalman,  the  picture  of  desolation. 

"  What  is  it?  "  cried  Mrs.  French,  running  to  her. 
'*  Tell  me  what  is  the  matter." 

Irma  told  the  story.  Early  that  morning  they 
had  gone  to  the  jail,  but  after  waiting  for  hours  they 
were  refused  admission  by  the  guard. 

"  A  very  cross  man  send  us  away,"  said  the  girl. 
"He  say  he  put  us  in  jail  too.  We  can  see  out 
fadder  no  more." 

Her  words  were  followed  by  a  new  outburst  of 
grief  on  the  part  of  Paulina  and  the  two  children. 

"  But  the  Judge  said  you  were  to  see  him,"  said 
Mrs.  French  in  surprise.     "  Wait  for  me,"  she  added. 

She  ran  out  and  told  the  doctor  in  indignant  words 
what  had  taken  place,  a  red  spot  glowing  in  eacb 
white  cheek. 

"  Is  n't  it  a  shame?  "  she  cried  when  she  had  fin- 
ished her  story. 

"  Oh,  it 's  something  about  prison  rules  and  regu- 
lations, I  guess,"  said  the  doctor. 

"  Prison  rules !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  French  with  wrath 
rare  in  her.     "  I  '11  go  straight  to  the  Judge  myself.'* 

"  Get  in,"  said  the  doctor,  taking  up  the  lines. 

*'  Where  are  you  going  ?  We  can't  leave  these 
poor  things  in  this  way,"  the  tears  gathering  in  hen 
eyes  and  her  voice  beginning  to  break. 


THE   PRICE   OF  VENGEANCE  14S 

"  Not  much,"  said  the  doctor  briskly ;  "  we  are 
evidently  in  for  another  scrap.  I  don't  know  where 
you  will  land  me  finally,  but  I  'm  game  to  follow  your 
lead.     We'll  go  to  the  jail." 

Mrs.  French  considered  a  moment.  "  Let  us  first 
take  these  children  to  the  hospital  and  then  we  shall 
meet  Paulina  at  the  jail." 

"  All  right,"  said  the  doctor,  "  tell  them  so.  I  am 
at  your  service." 

"  You  are  awfully  good.  Doctor,"  said  the  little 
lady,  her  sweet  smile  once  more  finding  its  way  to 
her  pale  face. 

"Ain't  I,  though.?"  said  the  doctor.  "If  the 
spring  were  a  little  further  advanced  you  'd  see  my 
wings  sprouting.  I  enjoy  this.  I  haven't  had  such 
fun  since  my  last  football  match.  I  see  the  finish  of 
that  jail  guard.     Come  on." 

Within  an  hour  the  doctor  and  Mrs.  French  drove 
up  to  the  jail.  There,  at  the  bleak  north  door,  swept 
by  the  chill  March  wind,  and  av/ay  from  the  genial 
light  of  the  shining  sun,  they  found  Paulina  and  her 
children,  a  shivering,  timid,  shrinking  group,  look- 
ing patheticallj'^  strange  and  forlorn  in  their  quaint 
Galician  garb. 

The  pathos  of  the  picture  appeared  to  strike  both 
the  doctor  and  his  friend  at  the  same  time. 

"  Brute !  "  said  the  doctor,  "  it 's  some  beast  of  an 
understrapper.  He  might  have  let  them  in,  anyway. 
I  '11  see  the  head  turnkey." 


144  THE   FOREIGNER 

"  Is  n't  it  terribly  sad  ?  "  replied  Mrs.  Frenclb 

The  doctor  rang  the  bell  at  the  jail  door,  prepared 
for  battle. 

"  I  want  to  see  Mr.  Cowan." 

The  guard  glanced  past  the  doctor,  saw  the  shrink- 
ing group  behind  him  and  gruffly  announced,  "  This 
is  not  the  hour  for  visitors," 

"  I  want  to  see  Mr.  Cowan,"  repeated  the  doctor 
slowly,  looking  the  guard  steadily  in  the  eye.  "  Is 
he  in  ?  " 

"  Come  in,"  said  the  guard  sullenly,  allowing  the 
doctor  and  his  friend  to  enter,  and  shutting  the  door 
in  the  faces  of  the  Galicians. 

In  a  few  moments  Mr.  Cowan  appeared,  a  tall 
athletic  man,  kindly  of  face  and  of  manner.  He 
greeted  Mrs.  French  and  the  doctor  warmly. 

"  Come  into  the  office,"  he  said ;    "  come  in." 

"  Mr.  Cowan,"  said  Mrs.  French,  "  there  is  a  poor 
Galician  woman  and  her  children  outside  the  door, 
the  wife  and  children  of  the  man  who  was  condemned 
yesterday.  The  Judge  told  them  they  could  see  the 
prisoner  to-day." 

"  The  hour  for  visitors,"  said  Mr.  Cowan,  "  is  three 
in  the  afternoon." 

"  Could  you  not  let  her  in  now?  She  has  already 
waited  for  hours  at  the  door  this  morning,  and  on 
being  refused  went  home  broken-hearted.  She  does 
not  understand  our  ways  and  is  very  timid.  I  wish 
you  could  let  her  in  now  while  I  am  here." 


THE   PRICE   OF   VENGEANCE  14-» 

Mr.  Cowan  hesitated.  "  I  should  greatly  like  to 
obhge  you,  Mrs.  French.  You  know  that.  Sit  down, 
and  I  will  see.  Let  that  woman  and  her  children 
in,"  he  said  to  the  guard. 

The  guard  went  sullenly  to  the  door,  followed  by 
Mrs.  French. 

*'  Come  in  here,"  he  said  in  a  gruff  voice. 

Mrs.  French  hurried  past  him,  took  Paulina  by 
the  arm,  and  saying,  "  Come  in  and  sit  down,"  led 
her  to  a  bench  and  sat  beside  her.  "  It 's  all  right," 
she  whispered.  "  I  am  sure  you  can  see  your  hus- 
band.    Tell  her,"  she  said  to  Irma. 

In  a  short  time  Mr.  Cowan  came  back. 

"  They  may  see  him,"  he  said.  "  It  is  against  all 
discipline,  but  it  is  pretty  hard  to  resist  Mrs. 
French,"  he  continued,  turning  to  the  doctor. 

"  It  is  quite  useless  trying,"  said  the  doctor ;  "  I 
have  long  ago  discovered  that." 

"  Come,"  said  that  little  lady,  leading  Paulina  to 
the  door  of  the  cell. 

The  guard  turned  the  lock,  shot  back  the  bolts, 
opened  the  door  and  motioning  with  his  hand,  said 
gruffly  to  Paulina,  "  Go  in." 

The  woman  looked  into  the  cell  in  shrinking  fear. 

"  Go  on,"  said  ]\Irs,  French  in  an  encouraging 
voice,  patting  her  on  the  shoulder,  "  I  will  wait  here." 

Clinging  to  one  another,  the  woman  and  children 
passed  in  through  the  door  which  the  guard  closed 
behind  them  with  a  reverberating  clang.    Mrs.  French 

10 


146  THE   FOREIGNER 

sat  on  the  bench  outside,  her  face  cast  down,  her  eyes 
closed.  Now  and  then  through  the  grating  of  the 
door  rose  and  fell  a  sound  of  voices  mingled  with 
that  of  sobs  and  weeping,  hearing  which,  Mrs.  French 
covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  while  the  tears 
trickled  down  through  her  fingers. 

As  she  sat  there,  the  door-bell  rang  and  two  Gali- 
cian  men  appeared,  seeking  admission. 

"  We  come  to  see  Kaimar,"  said  one  of  them. 

Mrs.  French  came  eagerly  forward.  "  Oh,  let 
them  come  in,  please.  They  are  friends  of  the  pris- 
oner.    I  know  them." 

Without  a  word  the  guard  turned  from  her,  strode 
to  the  office  where  Mr.  Cowan  sat  in  conversation 
with  the  doctor,  and  in  a  few  moments  returned  with 
permission  for  the  men  to  enter. 

"  Sit  down  there,"  he  said,  pointing  to  a  bench  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  door  from  that  on  which  Mrs„ 
French  was   sitting. 

Before  man}'  minutes  had  elapsed,  the  prisoner  ap= 
peared  at  the  door  of  his  cell  with  Paulina  and  his 
children. 

**  Would  you  kindly  open  the  door?  "  he  said  in  a 
-courteous  tone  to  the  guard,    "  They  wish  to  depart."' 

The  guard  went  toward  the  door,  followed  by  Mrs. 
French,  who  stood  waiting  with  hands  outstretched 
toward  the  weeping  Paulina.  As  the  door  swung 
open,  the  children  came  forth,  but  upon  the  threshold 
Paulina  paused,  glanced  into  the  cell,  ran  back  and 


THE   PRICE   OF   \T^NGEANCE  147 

throwing  herself  at  the  prisoner's  feet,  seized  his 
hand  and  kissed  it  again  and  again  with  loud  weeping. 

For  a  single  instant  the  man  yielded  her  his  hand, 
and  then  in  a  voice  stern  but  not  unkind,  he  said,  "  Go. 
My  children  are  in  your  keeping.     Be  faithful." 

At  once  the  woman  rose  and  came  back  to  the  door 
where  Mrs.  French  stood  waiting  for  her. 

As  they  passed  on,  the  guard  turned  to  the  men 
and  said  briefly,  "  Come." 

As  they  were  about  to  enter  the  cell,  the  boy  sud- 
denly left  Paulina's  side,  ran  to  Simon  Ketzel  and 
clutching  firm  hold  of  his  hand  said,  "  Let  me  go  with 
you." 

"  Go  back,"  said  the  guard,  but  the  boy  still  clung 
to  Ketzel's  hand. 

"  Oh,  let  him  go,"  said  Mrs.  French.  "  He  will  do 
no  harm."    And  the  guard  gave  grudging  permission. 

With  a  respectful,  almost  reverential  mien,  the  men 
entered  the  cell,  knelt  before  the  prisoner  and  kissed 
his  hand.  The  moments  were  precious  and  there  was 
much  to  sa}'-  and  do,  so  Kahnar  lost  no  time. 

"  I  have  sent  for  you,"  he  said,  "  first  to  give  you 
my  report  which  you  will  send  back  to  headquarters." 

Over  and  over  again  he  repeated  the  words  of  his 
report,  till  he  was  certain  that  they  had  it  in  sure 
possession. 

"  This  must  go  at  once,"  he  said. 

"  At  once,"  replied  Simon. 

"  In  a  few  weeks  or  months,"  continued  the  pris- 


148  THE   FOREIGNER 

oner  in  a  low  voice,  "  I  expect  to  be  free.  Siberia 
could  not  hold  me,  and  do  you  think  that  any  prison 
in  this  country  can?  But  this  report  must  go 
immediately." 

"  Immediately,"  said  Simon  again. 

"  Now,"  said  Kalmar  solemnly,  "  there  is  one  thing 
more.  Our  cause  fails  chiefly  because  of  traitors.  In 
this  city  is  a  traitor.  My  oath  demands  his  death  or 
mine.  If  I  fail,  I  must  pass  the  work  on  to  another. 
It  is  for  this  I  have  called  you  here.  You  are  members 
of  our  Brotherhood.     What  do  you  say.^*  " 

The  men  stood  silent. 

"  Speak ! "  said  Kalmar  in  a  low  stern  voice. 
"  Have  you  no  words?  " 

But  still  they  stood  silent  and  distressed,  looking 
at  each  other. 

"  Tell  me,"  said  Kalmar,  "  do  you  refuse  the 
oath?  " 

"  Master,"  said  Joseph  Pinkas  sullenly,  "  this  is  a 
new  country.  All  that  we  left  beliind.  That  is  all 
well  for  Russia,  but  not  for  Canada.  Here  we  do 
not  take  oath  to  kill." 

"  Swine !  "  hissed  Kalmar  with  unutterable  scorn. 
"  Why  are  you  here?     Go  from  me!  " 

From  his  outstretched  hand  Joseph  fell  back  in 
sudden  fear.  Kalmar  strode  to  the  door  and  rattled 
it  in  its  lock. 

"  This  man  wishes  to  go,"  he  said,  as  the  guard 
appeared.     "  Let  him  go." 


THE   PRICE   OF  VENGEANCE  149 

"What  about  the  others?"  said  the  guard. 

"  Permit  them  to  remain  for  a  few  moments,"  said 
Kahnar,  recovering  the  even  tone  of  his  voice  with  a 
tremendous  effort. 

"  Now,  Simon  Ketzel,"  he  said,  turning  back  to 
the  man  who  stood  waiting  him  in  fear,  "  what  is  your 
answer.''  " 

Simon  took  his  hand  and  kissed  it.  "  I  will  serve 
you  with  my  money,  with  my  life.  I  am  all  Russian 
here,"  smiting  on  his  breast,  "  I  cannot  forget  my 
countrymen  in  bondage.    I  will  help  them  to  freedom." 

"  Ah,"  said  Kalmar,  "  good.  Now  listen.  This 
Rosenblatt  betrayed  us,  brought  death  and  exile  to 
many  of  our  brothers  and  sisters.  He  still  lives.  He 
ought  to  die.     What  do  you  say?  " 

"  He  ought  to  die,"  answered  Simon. 

"  The  oath  is  laid  upon  me.  I  sought  the  privi- 
lege of  executing  vengeance ;  it  was  granted  me.  I 
expect  to  fulfil  my  oath,  but  I  may  fail.  If  I  fail," 
here  he  bent  his  face  toward  that  of  Simon  Ketzel, 
his  bloodshot  eyes  glowing  in  his  white  face  like  red 
coals,  "  if  I  fail,"  he  repeated,  "  is  he  still  to  live?  " 

"  Do  you  ask  me  to  kill  him?  "  said  Simon  in  a  low 
voice.  "  I  have  a  wife  and  three  children.  If  I  kill 
this  man  I  must  leave  them.  There  is  no  place  for  me 
in  this  country.  There  is  no  escape.  I  must  lay  upon 
my  children  that  burden  forever.  Do  you  ask  me  to 
do  this?  Surely  God  will  bring  His  sure  vengeance 
upon  him.    Let  him  go  into  the  hands  of  God.'' 


150  THE   FOREIGNER 

"  Let  him  go  ?  "  said  Kalmar,  his  breath  hissing 
through  his  shut  teeth.  "  Listen,  and  tell  me  if  I 
should  let  him  go.  Many  years  ago,  when  a  student 
in  the  University,  I  fell  under  suspicion,  and  without 
trial  was  sent  to  prison  by  a  tyrannical  Government. 
Released,  I  found  it  difficult  to  make  a  living.  I  was 
under  the  curse  of  Government  suspicion.  In  spite 
of  that  I  succeeded.  I  married  a  noble  lady  and  for 
a  time  prospered.  I  joined  a  Secret  Society.  I  had 
a  friend.  He  was  the  rej  ected  suitor  of  my  wife.  He, 
too,  was  an  enthusiast  for  the  cause  of  freedom.  He 
became  a  member  of  my  Society  and  served  so  well 
that  he  was  trusted  with  their  most  secret  plans.  He 
sold  them  to  the  Government,  seeking  my  ruin.  The 
Society  was  broken  up  and  scattered,  the  members, 
my  friend  included,  arrested  and  sent  to  prison,  exile 
and  death.  Soon  he  was  liberated.  I  escaped.  In 
a  distant  border  town  I  took  up  my  residence,  deter- 
mined, when  opportunity  offered,  to  flee  the  country 
with  my  wife  and  two  infant  children,  one  a  babe  in 
his  mother's  arms.  At  this  time  my  friend  discovered 
me.  I  had  no  suspicion  of  him.  I  told  him  my  plans. 
He  offered  to  aid  me.  I  gave  him  the  money  where- 
with to  bribe  the  patrol.  Once  more  he  betrayed  me. 
Our  road  lay  through  a  thick  forest.  As  we  drove 
along,  a  soldier  hailed  us.  I  killed  him  and  we  dashed 
forward,  only  to  find  another  soldier  waiting.  We 
abandoned  our  sleigh  and  took  to  a  woodcutter's 
track  through  the  forest.    We  had  only  a  mile  to  go. 


THE   PRICE   OF   VENGEANCE  151 

There  were  many  tracks.  The  soldier  pursued  us 
through  the  deep  snow,  firing  at  random.  A  bullet 
found  a  place  in  my  wife's  heart.  Ah!  My  God! 
She  fell  to  the  snow,  her  babe  in  her  arms.  I  threw 
myself  at  her  side.  She  looked  up  into  my  face  and 
smiled.  '  I  am  free  at  last,'  she  said.  '  Farewell,  dear 
heart.  The  children  —  leave  me  —  carry  them  to 
freedom.'  I  closed  her  eyes,  covered  her  with  snow 
and  fled  on  through  the  forest,  and  half  frozen  made 
my  way  across  the  border  and  was  safe.  My  chil- 
dren I  left  with  friends  and  went  back  to  bring  my 
wife.  I  found  blood  tracks  on  the  snow,  and  bones." 
He  put  his  hands  over  his  face  as  if  to  shut  out  the 
horrid  picture,  then  flinging  them  down,  he  turned 
fiercely  upon  Simon.  "  What  do  you  say .''  Shall  I 
let  him  go .''  " 

"  No,"  said  Simon,  reaching  out  both  his  hands. 
"  By  the  Lord  God  Almighty  !    No  !    He  shall  die !  " 

Kalmar  tore  open  his  shirt,  pulled  out  a  crucifix. 

"  Will  you  sv/ear  by  God  and  all  the  saints  that  if 
I  fail  you  will  take  my  place.''  " 

Simon    hesitated.       The     boy     sprang     forward, 
snatched     the     crucifix     from     his     father's     hand,, 
pressed  his  lips  against  it  and  said  in  a  loud  voice, 
"  I  swear,  by  God  and  all  the  saints." 

The  father  started  back,  and  for  a  few  moments 
silently  contemplated  his  boy.  "What,  boy?  You?, 
You  know  not  what  you  say." 


152  THE   FOREIGNER 

"  I  do  know,  father.  It  was  my  mother  you  left 
there  in  the  snow.     Some  day  I  will  kill  him." 

"  No,  no,  my  boy,"  said  the  father,  clasping  him  in 
his  arms.  "  You  are  your  father's  son,  your  mother's 
son,"  he  cried.  "  You  have  the  heart,  the  spirit,  but 
this  oath  I  shall  not  lay  upon  you.  No,  by  my  hand 
he  shall  die,  or  let  him  go."  He  stood  for  some 
moments  silent,  his  head  leaning  forward  upon  his 
breast.  "  No,"  he  said  again,  "  Simon  is  right.  This 
is  a  new  land,  a  new  life.  Let  the  past  die  with  me. 
With  this  quarrel  you  have  nothing  to  do.  It  is  not 
yours." 

"  I  will  kill  him,"  said  the  boy  stubbornly,  "  I  have 
sworn  the  oath.  It  was  my  mother  you  left  in  the 
snow.    Some  day  I  will  kill  him." 

"  Aha !  boy,"  said  the  father,  drawing  him  close 
to  his  side,  "  my  quarrel  is  yours.  Good !  But  first 
he  is  mine.  When  my  hand  lies  still  in  death,  you  may 
take  up  the  cause,  but  not  till  then.    You  hear  me?  " 

"  Yes,  father,"  said  the  boy. 

"  And  you  promise  ?  " 

"  I  promise." 

"  Now  farewell,  my  son.  A  bitter  fate  is  ours.  A 
bitter  heritage  I  leave  you !  "  He  sank  down  upon 
the  bench,  drew  his  boy  toward  him  and  said  brokenly, 
*'  Nay,  nay,  it  shall  not  be  yours.  I  shall  free  you 
from  it.  In  this  new  land,  let  hfe  be  new  with  yoo, 
Let  not  tlie  shadow  of  the  old  rest  upon  you."     He 


THE   1-iiiCE   OF   VENGEANCE  153 

gathered  the  boy  up  in  his  strong  arms  and  strained 
him  to  his  breast.  "  Now  farewell,  my  son.  Ah !  God 
in  Heaven ! "  he  cried,  his  tears  raining  down  upon 
the  boy's  face,  "  must  I  give  up  this  too !  All,  those 
eyes  are  her  eyes,  that  face  her  face!  Is  this  the 
last  ?  Is  tliis  all  ?  How  bitter  is  life !  "  He  rocked 
back  and  forward  on  the  bench,  his  boy's  arms  tight 
about  his  neck.  "  My  boy,  my  boy !  the  last  of  life 
I  give  up  here !  Keep  faith.  This,"  pulling  out  the 
miniature,  "  I  would  give  you  now,  but  it  is  all  I  have 
left.  When  I  die  I  will  send  it  to  you.  Your  sister  I 
give  to  your  charge.  When  you  are  a  man  guard  her. 
Now  go.     Farewell." 

The  guard  appeared  at  the  door. 

"  Come,  you  must  go.  Time 's  up,"  he  said 
roughl3'-. 

"  Time  is  up,"  cried  the  father,  "  and  all  time 
henceforth  is  useless  to  me.  Farewell,  my  son ! " 
kissing  him.  "  You  must  go  from  me.  Don't  be 
ashamed  of  your  father,  though  he  may  die  a  prisoner 
or  wander  an  exile." 

The  boy  clung  fast  to  his  father's  neck,  drawing 
deep  sobbing  breaths. 

"  Boy,  boy,"  said  the  father,  mingling  his  sobs 
with  those  of  his  son,  "  help  me  to  bear  it !  " 

It  was  a  piteous  appeal,  and  it  reached  the  boy's 
heart.  At  once  he  loosened  one  hand  from  its  hold, 
put  it  up  and  stroked  his  father's  face  as  \is  sobs 
grew  quiet.     At  the  touch  upon  his  face,  the  father 


154  THE   FOREIGNER 

straightened  himself  up,  gently  removed  liis  son's 
clinging  arm  from  his  neck. 

"  My  son,"  he  said  quietly,  "  we  must  be  men.  The 
men  of  our  blood  meet  not  death  so." 

Immediately  the  boy  slipped  from  his  father's  arms 
and  stood  erect  and  quiet,  looking  up  into  the  dark 
face  above  him  watchful  for  the  next  word  or  sign. 
The  father  waved  his  hand  toward  the  door. 

"  We  now  say  farewell,"  he  said  quietly.  He 
stooped  down,  kissed  his  son  gravely  and  tenderly 
first  upon  the  lips,  then  upon  the  brow,  walked  with 
him  to  the  barred  door. 

"  We  are  ready,"  he  said  quietly  to  the  guard  who 
stood  near  by. 

The  boy  passed  out,  and  gave  his  hand  to  Paulina, 
who  s»tood  waiting  for  him. 

"  Simon  Ketzel,"  said  Kalmar,  as  he  bade  hira 
farewell,  "  you  will  befriend  my  boy  ?  " 

"  Master,  brother,"  said  Simon,  "  I  will  serve  your 
children  with  my  life."  He  knelt,  kissed  the  prisoner's 
hand,  and  went  out. 

That  afternoon,  the  name  of  Michael  Kalmar  was 
entered  upon  the  roll  of  the  Provincial  Penitentiary, 
and  he  took  up  his  burden  of  life,  no  longer  a  man, 
but  a  mere  human  animal  driven  at  the  will  of  some 
petty  tyrant,  doomed  to  toil  without  reward,  to  iso- 
lation from  all  that  makes  life  dear,  to  deprivation 
of  the  freedom  of  God's  sweet  light  and  air,  to  deg- 
radation   without    hope    of    recovery.      Before   him 


THE   PRICE   OF   VENGEANCE  155 

stretched  fourteen  long  years  of  slow  agony,  with 
cruel  abundance  of  leisure  to  feed  his  soul  with  mad- 
dening memories  of  defeated  vengeance,  with  fearful 
anxieties  for  the  future  of  those  dear  as  life,  with 
feelings  of  despair  over  a  cause  for  which  he  had 
sacrificed  his  all. 


\6Q  THE    FOREIGNER 


CHAPTER    IX 


BROTHEE    AND    SISTER 


lEFORE  summer  had  gone,  Winnipeg  was  re- 
minded of  the  existence  of  the  foreign  colonj^ 
by  the  escape  from  the  Provincial  Penitentiary  of 
the  Russian  prisoner  Kalmar.  The  man  who  could 
not  be  held  by  Siberian  bars  and  guards  found  es- 
cape from  a  Canadian  prison  easy.  That  he  had 
accomplices  was  evident,  but  who  they  were  could 
not  be  discovered.  Suspicion  naturally  fell  upon 
Simon  Ketzel  and  Joseph  Pinkas,  but  after  the  most 
searching  investigation  they  were  released  and  Win- 
nipeg went  back  to  its  ways  and  forgot.  The  big 
business  men  rebuilding  fortunes  shattered  by  the 
boom,  the  little  business  men  laying  foundations  for 
fortunes  to  be,  the  women  within  the  charmed  circle 
of  Society  bound  to  the  whirling  wheel  of  social 
functions,  other  women  outside  and  striving  to  beg, 
or  buy,  or  break  their  way  into  the  circle,  and  still 
other  women  who  cared  not  a  pin's  head  whether 
they  were  within  or  without,  being  sufficient  for 
themselves,  the  busy  people  of  the  churches  with 
their  philanthropies,  their  religious  activities,  stxiT- 


BROTHER  AND   SISTER  157 

ing  to  gather  into  their  several  folds  the  waifs  and 
etrays  that  came  stumbling  into  their  city  from  all 
lands  —  all  alike,  unaware  of  the  growing  danger 
area  in  their  young  city,  forgot  the  foreign  colony, 
its  problems  and  its  needs. 

Meantime,  summer  followed  winter,  and  winter 
summer,  the  months  and  years  went  on  while  the 
foreign  colony  grew  in  numbers  and  more  slo\yly  in 
wealth.  More  slowly  in  wealth,  because  as  an  indi- 
vidual member  grew  in  wealth  he  departed  from  the 
colony  and  went  out  to  make  an  independent  home 
for  himself  in  one  of  the  farming  colonies  which  the 
Government  was  establishing  in  some  of  the  more 
barren  and  forbidding  sections  of  the  country;  or 
it  may  be,  loving  the  city  and  its  ways  of  business, 
he  rapidly  sloughed  off  with  his  foreign  clothes  his 
foreign  speech  and  manner  of  life,  and  his  foreign 
ideals  as  well,  and  became  a  Canadian  citizen,  dis- 
tinguished from  his  cosmopolitan  fellow  citizen  only 
by  the  slight  difficulty  he  displayed  with  some  of  the 
consonants  of  the  language. 

Such  a  man  was  Simon  Ketzel.  Simon  was  by 
trade  a  carpenter,  but  he  had  received  in  the  old 
land  a  good  educational  foundation;  he  had,  more- 
over, a  shrev/d  head  for  affairs,  and  so  he  turned  his 
energies  to  business,  and  with  conspicuous  succesSo 
For  in  addition  to  all  his  excellent  qualities,  Simon 
possessed  as  the  most  valuable  part  of  his  equipment 
a  tidy,   thrifty  wife,   who   saved  what  her  husband 


158  THE   FOREIGNER 

earned  and  kept  guard  over  him  on  feast  days,  saved 
and  kept  guard  so  fa,ithfully  that  before  long  Simon 
came  to  see  the  wisdom  of  her  pohcy  and  became  him- 
self a  shrewd  and  sober  and  well-doing  Canadian,  able 
to  hold  his  own  with  the  best  of  them. 

His  sobriety  and  steadiness  Simon  owed  mostly  to 
his  thrifty  wife,  but  his  rapid  transformation  into 
Canadian  citizenship  he  owed  chiclly  to  his  little 
daughter  Margaret.  It  was  Margaret  that  taught 
him  his  English,  as  she  conned  over  her  lessons  with 
him  in  the  evenings.  It  was  Margaret  who  carried 
home  from  the  little  Methodist  mission  near  by,  the 
illustrated  paper  and  the  library  book,  and  thus  set 
him  a-reading.  It  was  Margaret  that  brought  both 
Simon  and  Lena,  his  wife,  to  the  social  gathering  of 
the  Sunday  School  and  of  the  church.  It  was  thus 
to  little  Margaret  that  the  Ketzels  owed  their  intro- 
duction to  Canadian  life  and  manners,  and  to  the 
finer  sides  of  Canadian  religion.  And  through  little 
IMargaret  it  was  that  those  greatest  of  all  Canadian- 
ising  influences,  the  school  and  the  mission,  made 
their  impact  upon  the  hearts  and  the  home  of  the 
Ketzel  family.  And  as  time  went  on  it  came  to  pass 
that  from  the  Ketzel  home,  clean,  orderly,  and  Ca- 
nadian, there  went  out  into  the  foul  wastes  about, 
streams  of  healing  and  cleansing  that  did  their  benefi- 
cent work  where  they  went. 

One  of  these  streams  reached  the  home  of  Paulina, 
to  the  great  good  of  herself  and  her  family.     Here» 


BROTHER   AND   SISTER  159 

again,  it  was  chiefly  little  Margaret  who  became  the 
channel  of  the  new  life,  for  with  Paulina  both  Simon 
and  Lena  had  utterly  failed.     She  was  too  dull,  too 
apathetic,   too  hopeless   and  too   suspicious   even   of 
her  own  kind  to  allow  the  Ketzels  an  entrance  to  her 
heart.     But  even  had  she  not  been  all  this,  she  was 
too   sorely  oppressed  with  the  burden  of  her  daily 
toil  to  yield  to  such  influence  as  they  had  to  oflTer. 
For  Rosenblatt  was  again  in  charge  of  her  household. 
In  a  manner  best  known  to  himself,  he  had  secured 
the   mortgage   on   her   home,    and   thus   became   her 
landlord,  renting  her  the  room  in  which  she  and  her 
family  dwelt,  and  for  which  they  all  paid  in  daily 
labour,  and  dearly  enough.     Rosenblatt,  thus  being 
her  master,  would  not  let  her  go.     She  was  too  valu- 
able for  that.     Strong,  patient,  diligent,  from  early 
dawn  till  late  at  night  she  toiled  and  moiled  with  her 
baking  and  scrubbing,  fighting  out  that  ancient  and 
primitive  and  endless  fight  against  dirt  and  hunger, 
beaten  by  the  one,  but  triumphing   over  the  other. 
She  carried  in  her  heart  a  dull  sense  of  injustice,  a 
feeling   that  somehow  wrong   was   being   done  her; 
but  when  Rosenblatt  flourished  before  her  a  formidable 
Jefral  document,  and  had  the  same  interpreted  to  her 
by  his  smart  young  clerk,  Samuel  Sprink,  she,  with 
true  Slavic  and  fatalistic  passivity,  accepted  her  lot 
and   bent   her   strong  back   to  her  burden   without 
complaint.     What  was  the  use  of  complaint  .^^     Who 
in  all  the  city  was  there  to  care  for  a  poor,  stupid, 


160  THE   FOREIGNER 

Galician  woman  with  none  too  savoury  a  reputation? 
Many  and  generous  were  the  philanthropies  of  Win" 
nipeg,  but  as  yet  there  was  none  that  had  to  do  with 
the  dirt,  disease  and  degradation  that  were  too  often 
found  in  the  environment  of  the  foreign  people. 
There  were  many  churches  in  the  city  rich  in  good 
work,  with  many  committees  that  met  to  confer  and 
report,  but  there  was  not  yet  one  whose  special  duty 
it  was  to  confer  and  to  report  upon  the  unhappy  and 
struggling  and  unsavoury  foreigner  within  their  city 
gate. 

Yes,  there  was  one.  The  little  Methodist  mission 
hard  by  the  foreign  colony  had  such  a  committee,  a 
remarkable  committee  in  a  way,  a  committee  with  no 
fine-spun  theories  of  wholesale  reform,  a  committee 
with  no  delicate  nostril  to  be  buried  in  a  perfumed 
handkerchief  when  pursuing  an  investigation  (as  a 
matter  of  fact,  that  committee  had  no  sense  of  smell 
at  all),  a  committee  of  one,  namely,  John  James  Par- 
sons, the  Methodist  missionary,  and  he  worked  chiefly 
with  committees  of  one,  of  which  not  the  least  impor- 
tant was  little  Margaret  Ketzel. 

It  was  throuoch  Margaret  Ketzel  that  Parsons  got 
his  first  hold  of  Paulina,  by  getting  hold  of  her  little 
girl  Irma.  For  Margaret,  though  so  much  her  junior 
in  years  and  experience,  was  to  Irma  a  continual 
source  of  wonder  and  admiration.  Her  facility  with 
the  English  speech,  her  ability  to  read  books,  her 
fine  manners,  her  clean  and  orderly  home>  her  pretty 


BROTHER  AND   SISTER  161 

Canadian  dress,  her  beloved  school,  her  cheery  mis- 
sion, all  these  were  to  Irma  new,  wonderful  and  fasci- 
nating. Gradually  Irma  was  drawn  to  that  new 
world  of  Margaret's,  and  away  from  the  old,  sordid, 
disorderly  wretchedness  of  her  own  life  and  home. 

After  much  secret  conference  with  all  the  Ketzels, 
and  much  patient  and  skilful  labour  on  the  part  of 
the  motherly  Lena,  a  great  day  at  length  arrived 
for  Irma.  It  was  the  day  on  wliich  she  discarded  the 
head  shawl  with  thp  rest  of  the  quaint  Galician  attire, 
and  appeared  dressed  as  a  Canadian  girl,  discovering 
to  her  delighted  friends  and  to  all  who  knew  her, 
though  not  yet  to  herself,  a  rare  beauty  hitherto 
unnoticed  by  any.  Indeed,  when  Mr.  Samuel  Sprink, 
coming  in  from  Rosenblatt's  store  to  spend  a  few 
hurried  minutes  in  gorging  himself  after  his  manner 
at  the  evening  meal,  allowed  himself  time  to  turn  his 
eyes  from  his  plate  and  to  let  them  rest  upon  the  little 
maid  waiting  upon  his  table,  the  transformation  from 
the  girl,  slatternly,  ragged  and  none  too  clean,  that 
was  wont  to  bring  him  his  food,  to  this  new  being 
that  flitted  about  from  place  to  place,  smote  him  as 
with  a  sudden  blow.  He  laid  down  the  instruments 
of  liis  gluttony  and  for  a  full  half  minute  forgot 
the  steaming  stew  before  him,  whose  garlic-laden 
odours  had  been  assailing  his  nostrils  some  minutes 
previously  with  pungent  delight.  Others,  too,  of 
that  hungry  gorging  company  found  themselves  dis- 
turbed in   their  ordinary   occupation  by  this   vision! 


162  THE    FOREIGNER 

of  sweet  and  tender  beauty  that  flitted  about  them, 
mmisterfng  to  their  voracity. 

To  none  more  than  to  Rosenblatt  himself  was  the 
transformation  of  Irma  a  surprise  and  a  mystery. 
It  made  him  uneasy.  He  had  an  instinctive  feeling 
that  this  was  the  beginning  of  an  emancipation  that 
would  leave  him  one  day  without  his  slaves.  Paulina, 
too,  would  learn  the  new  ways ;  then  she  and  the  girl, 
who  now  spent  long  hours  of  hard  labour  in  his 
service,  would  demand  money  for  their  toil.  The 
thought  grieved  him  sore.  But  there  was  another 
thought  that  stabbed  him  with  a  keener  pain.  Pau- 
lina and  her  family  would  learn  that  they  need  no 
longer  fear  him,  that  they  could  do  without  him,  and 
then  they  would  escape  from  his  control.  And  this 
Rosenblatt  dreaded  above  all  things  else.  To  lose 
the  power  to  keep  in  degradation  the  wife  and  chil- 
dren of  the  man  he  hated  with  a  quenchless  hatred 
would  be  to  lose  much  of  the  sweetness  of  life.  Those 
few  terrible  moments  when  he  had  lain  waiting  for 
the  uplifted  knife  of  his  foe  to  penetrate  his  shrink- 
ing eyeballs  had  taken  years  from  him.  He  had  come 
back  to  his  life  older,  weaker,  broken  in  nerve  and 
iTiore  than  ever  consumed  with  a  thirst  for  ven- 
ficeance.  Since  Kalmar's  escape  he  lived  in  daily, 
hourly  fear  that  his  enemy  would  strike  again  and 
this  time  without  missing,  and  with  feverish  anxiety 
he  planned  to  anticipate  that  hour  with  a  vengeance 
which  would  rob  death  of  much  of  its  sting. 


BROTHER   AND   SISTER  163 

So  far  he  had  succeeded  only  partially.  Paulina 
and  Irma  he  held  in  domestic  bondage.  From  the 
boy  Kalman,  too,  he  exacted  day  by  day  the  full  tale 
of  his  scanty  profits  made  from  selling  newspapers 
on  the  street.  But  beyond  this  he  could  not  go.  By 
no  soi't  of  terror  could  he  induce  Paulina  to  return 
to  the  old  conditions  and  rent  floor  space  in  her  room 
to  his  boarders.  At  her  door  she  stood  on  guard, 
refusing  admittance.  Once,  indeed,  when  hard 
pressed  by  Rosenblatt  demanding  entrance,  she  had 
thrown  herself  before  him  with  a  butcher  knife  in 
her  hand,  and  with  a  look  of  such  transforming 
fierceness  on  her  face  as  drove  him  from  the  house  in 
fear  of  his  life.  She  was  no  longer  his  patient 
drudge,  but  a  woman  defending,  not  so  much  her 
own,  as  her  husband's  honour,  a  tigress  guarding 
her  young. 

Never  again  did  Rosenblatt  attempt  to  pass 
through  that  door,  but  schooled  himself  to  wait  a 
better  time  and  a  safer  path  to  compass  his  ven- 
geance. But  from  that  moment,  where  there  had 
been  merely  contempt  for  Paulina  and  her  family, 
there  sprang  up  bitter  hatred.  Pie  hated  them  all  — 
the  woman  who  was  his  dupe  and  his  slave,  but  who 
balked  him  of  his  revenge ;  the  boy  who  brought  him 
the  cents  for  wliich  he  froze  during  the  winter  even- 
ings at  the  comer  of  Portage  and  Main,  but  who 
vith  the  cents  gave  him  fierce  and  fearless  looks ;  and 
this  girl  suddenly  transformed  from  a  timid,  stupid, 


164  THE   FOREIGNER 

ill-dressed  Galician  child,  into  a  being  of  grace  and 
loveliness  and  conscious  power.  No  wonder  that  as 
he  followed  her  with  his  eye,  noting  all  this  new  grace 
and  beauty,  he  felt  uneasy.  Already  she  seemed  to 
have  soared  far  beyond  his  sordid  world  and  far 
beyond  liis  grasp.  Deep  in  his  heart  he  swore  that 
he  would  find  means  to  bring  her  down  to  the  dirt 
again.  The  liigher  her  flight,  the  farther  her  fall  and 
the  sweeter  v/ould  be  his  revenge. 

"  What 's  the  matter  wit  you,  boss  ?  Gone  back 
on  your  grub,  eh?  " 

It  was  his  clerk,  Samuel  Sprink,  whose  sharp  little 
eyes  had  not  failed  to  note  the  gloomy  glances  of  his 
employer. 

"  Pretty  gay  girl,  our  Irma  has  come  to  be,"  con- 
tinued the  cheerful  Samuel,  who  prided  himself  on  his 
fine  selection  of  colloquial  English.  "  She  's  a  beaut 
now,  ain't  she  ?    A  regular  bird !  " 

Rosenblatt  started.  At  his  words,  but  more  at  the 
admiration  in  Samuel's  eyes,  a  new  idea  came  to  him. 
He  knew  his  clerk  well,  knew  his  restless  ambition, 
his  insatiable  greed,  his  intense  selfishness,  his  indom- 
itable will.  And  he  had  good  reason  to  know.  Three 
times  during  the  past  year  his  clerk  had  forced  from 
him  an  increase  of  salary.  Indeed,  Samuel  Sprink, 
young  though  he  was  and  unlearned  in  the  ways  of 
the  world,  was  the  only  man  in  the  city  that  Rosen- 
blatt feared.  If  by  any  means  Samuel  could  obtain 
a  hold  over  this  young  lady,  he  would  soon  bring  her 


BROTHER   AND   SISTER  165 

fco  the  dust.  Once  in  Samuel's  power,  she  would  soon 
sink  to  the  level  of  the  ordinary  Galician  wife.  True, 
she  was  but  a  girl  of  fifteen,  but  in  a  year  or  so 
she  would  be  ready  for  the  altar  in  the  Galician 
estimation. 

As  these  thoughts  swiftly  flashed  through  his  mind, 
Rosenblatt  turned  to  Samuel  Sprink  and  said,  "  Yes, 
she  is  a  fine  girl.  I  never  noticed  before.  It  is  her 
new  dress." 

"  Not  a  bit,"  said  Samuel.  "  The  dress  helps  out, 
but  it  is  the  girl  herself.  I  have  seen  it  for  a  long 
time.  Look  at  her.  Is  n't  she  a  bird,  a  bird  of 
Paradise,  eh.^*  " 

"  She  will  look  well  in  a  cage  some  day,  eh, 
Samuel.'' " 

"  You  bet  your  sweet  life !  "  said  Samuel. 

"  Better  get  the  cage  ready  then,  Samuel,"  sug- 
gested Rosenblatt.  "  There  are  plenty  bird  fanciers 
in  this  town." 

The  suggestion  seemed  to  anger  Samuel,  who  swore 
an  English  oath  and  lapsed  into  silence. 

Irma  heard,  but  heeded  little.  Rosenblatt  she 
feared,  Samuel  Sprink  she  despised.  There  had  been 
a  time  when  both  she  and  Paulina  regarded  him  with 
admiration  mingled  with  awe.  Samuel  Sprink  had 
many  attractions.  He  had  always  plenty  of  money 
to  jingle,  and  had  a  reputation  for  growing  wealth. 
He  was  generous  in  his  gifts  to  the  little  girl  —  gifts, 
it  must  be  confessed,  that  cost  him  little,  owing  to  his 


166  THE   FOREIGNER 

position  as  clerk  in  Rosenblatt's  store.  Then,  too, 
he  was  so  clever  with  his  smart  English  and  his 
Canadian  manners,  so  magnificent  with  his  curled 
and  oily  locks,  his  resplendent  jewelry,  his  brilliant 
neckties.  But  that  was  before  Irma  had  been  brought 
to  the  little  mission,  and  before  she  had  learned 
through  Margaret  Ketzel  and  through  Margaret's 
father  and  mother  something  of  Canadian  life,  of 
Canadian  people,  of  Canadian  manners  and  dress. 
As  her  knowledge  in  tliis  direction  extended,  her  ad- 
miration and  reverence  for  Samuel  Sprink  faded. 

The  day  that  Irma  discarded  her  Galician  garb 
and  blossomed  forth  as  a  Canadian  young  lady  was 
the  day  on  which  she  was  fully  cured  of  her  admira- 
tion for  Rosenblatt's  clerk.  For  such  subtle  influence 
does  dress  exercise  over  the  mind  that  something  of 
the  spirit  of  the  garb  seems  to  pass  into  the  spirit 
of  the  wearer.  Self-respect  is  often  bom  in  the 
tailor  shop  or  in  the  costumer's  parlour.  Be  this  as 
it  may,  it  is  certain  that  Irma's  Canadian  dress  gave 
the  final  blow  to  her  admiration  of  Samuel  Sprink, 
and  child  though  she  was,  she  became  conscious  of 
a  new  power  over  not  only  Sprink,  but  over  all  the 
boarders,  and  instinctively  she  assumed  a  new  attitude 
toward  them.  The  old  coarse  and  familiar  horse- 
play which  she  had  permitted  without  thought  at 
their  hands,  was  now  distasteful  to  her.  Indeed,  with 
most  of  the  men  it  ceased  to  be  any  longer  possible. 
There    were    a    few,    however,    and    Samuel    Sprinlc 


BROTHER   AND   SISTER  167 

among  them,  who  were  either  too  dull-witted  to  rec- 
ognise the  change  that  had  come  to  the  young  girl, 
or  were  unwilling  to  acknowledge  it.  Samuel  was  un- 
willing also  to  surrender  his  patronising  and  protec- 
tive attitude,  and  when  patronage  became  impossible 
and  protection  unnecessary,  he  assumed  an  air  of 
bravado  to  cover  the  feeling  of  embarrassment  he 
hated  to  acknowledge,  and  tried  to  bully  the  girl  into 
her  former  submissive  admiration. 

This  completed  the  revulsion  in  Irma's  mind,  and 
while  outwardly  she  went  about  her  work  in  the 
house  with  her  usual  cheerful  and  willing  industry, 
she  came  to  regard  her  admirer  and  would  be  patron 
with  fear,  loathing,  and  contempt.  Of  this,  however, 
Samuel  was  quite  unaware.  The  girl  had  changed 
in  her  manner  as  in  her  dress,  but  that  might  be 
because  she  was  older,  she  was  almost  a  woman,  after 
the  Galician  standard  of  computation.  Whatever 
the  cause,  to  Samuel  the  change  only  made  her  more 
fascinating  than  ever,  and  he  set  himself  seriously 
to  consider  whether  on  the  whole,  dowerless  though 
she  would  be,  it  would  not  be  wise  for  him  to  devote 
some  of  his  time  and  energy  to  the  winning  of  this 
fascinating  young  lady   for  himself. 

The  possibility  of  failure  never  entered  Samuel's 
mind.  He  had  an  overpowering  sense  of  his  own 
attractions.  The  question  was  simply  should  he  ear- 
nestly set  himself  to  accomplish  this  end.''  Without 
definitely  making  up  his  mind  on  this  point,  much 


168  THE   FOREIGNER 

less  committing  himself  to  this  object,  Samuel  al- 
lowed himself  the  pleasurable  occupation  of  trifling 
with  the  situation.  But  alas  for  Samuel's  peace  of 
mind!  and  alas  for  his  self-esteem!  the  daily  pres- 
ence of  this  fascinating  maiden  in  her  new  Canadian 
dress  and  with  her  new  Canadian  manners,  which 
appeared  to  go  with  the  dress,  quite  swept  him  away 
from  his  ordinary  moorings,  and  he  found  himself 
tossed  upon  a  tempestuous  sea,  the  helpless  sport 
of  gusts  of  passion  that  at  once  surprised  and  humili- 
ated him.  It  was  an  intolerably  painful  experience 
for  the  self-centred  and  self-controlled  Samuel ;  and 
after  a  few  months  of  this  acute  and  humiliating 
suffering  he  was  prepared  to  accept  help  from  almost 
any  course. 

At  this  point  Rosenblatt,  who  had  been  keeping 
a  watchful  eye  upon  the  course  of  events,  intervened. 

"  Samuel,  my  boy,"  he  said  one  winter  night  when 
the  store  was  closed  for  the  day,  "  you  are  acting 
the  fool.  You  are  letting  a  little  Slovak  girl  make 
a  game  of  you." 

"  I  attend  to  my  own  business,  all  the  same," 
growled  Samuel. 

"  You  do,  Samuel,  my  boy,  you  do.  But  you  make 
me  sorry  for  you,  and  ashamed." 

Samuel  grunted,  unwilling  to  acknowledge  even 
partial  defeat  to  the  man  whom  he  had  beaten  more 
than  once  in  his  own  game. 

"  You  desire  to  have  that  little  girl,  Samuel,  and 
yet  you  are  afraid  of  her." 


BROTHER   AND   SISTER  163 

But  Samuel  only  snarled  and  swore. 

"  You  forget  she  is  a  Galician  girl." 

"  She  is  Russian,"  interposed  Samuel,  "  and  she  is 
of  good  blood." 

"  Good  blood !  "  said  Rosenblatt,  showing  his  teeth 
hke  a  snarhng  dog,  "  good  blood !  The  blood  of  a 
murdering  Nihilist  jail  bird!  " 

"  She  is  of  good  Russian  blood,"  said  Samuel  with 
an  ugly  look  in  his  face,  "  and  he  is  a  liar  who  says 
she  is  not." 

"Well,  well,"  said  Rosenblatt,  turning  from  the 
point,  "  she  is  a  Galician  in  everything  else.  Her 
mother  is  a  Galician,  a  low-bred  Galician,  and  you 
treat  the  girl  as  if  she  were  a  lady.  This  is  not  the 
Galician  manner  of  wooing.  A  bolder  course  is  nec- 
essary. You  are  a  young  man  of  good  ability,  a 
rising  young  man.  You  will  be  rich  some  day.  Who 
is  this  girl  without  family,  without  dower  to  make 
you  fear  or  hesitate.?  What  says  the  proverb .^^  'A 
bone  for  my  dog,  a  stick  for  my  wife.'  " 

"  Yes,  that  is  all  right,"  muttered  Samuel,  "  a 
stick  for  my  wife,  and  if  she  v/ere  my  wife  I  would 
soon  bring  her  to  time." 

"  Ho,  ho,"  said  Rosenblatt,  "  it  is  all  the  same, 
sweetheart  and  wife.  They  are  both  much  the  better 
for  a  stick  now  and  then.  You  are  not  the  kind  of 
man  to  stand  beggar  before  a  portionless  Slovak 
girl,  a  young  man  handsome,  clever,  well-to-do.  You 
do  not  need  thus  to  humble  yourself.    Go  in,  my  son, 


170  THE   FOREIGNER 

with  more  courage  and  with  bolder  tactics.  I  will 
gladly  help  you." 

As  a  first  result  of  Rosenblatt's  encouraging  ad- 
vice, Samuel  recovered  much  of  his  self-assurance, 
which  had  been  rudely  shattered,  and  therefore  much 
of  his  good  humour.  As  a  further  result,  he  deter- 
mined upon  a  more  vigorous  policy  in  his  wooing. 
He  would  humble  himself  no  m.ore.  He  would  find 
means  to  bring  this  girl  to  her  place,  namely,  at  his 
feet. 

The  arrival  of  a  Saint's  day  brought  Samuel  an 
opportunity  to  inaugurate  his  new  policy.  The 
foreign  colony  was  rigidly  devoted  to  its  religious 
duties.  Nothing  could  induce  a  Galiclan  to  engage 
in  his  ordinary  avocation  upon  any  day  set  apart 
as  sacred  by  his  Church.  In  the  morning  such  of  the 
colony  as  adhered  to  the  Greek  Church,  went  en 
masse  to  the  quaint  little  church  which  had  come  to 
be  erected  and  which  had  been  consecrated  by  a  trav- 
elling Archbishop,  and  there  with  reverent  devotion 
joined  In  worship,  using  the  elaborate  service  of  the 
Greek  rite.  The  religious  duties  over,  they  proceeded 
still  further  to  celebrate  the  day  in  a  somewhat  riot-! 
ous  manner. 

With  the  growth  of  the  colony  new  houses  had 
been  erected  which  far  outshone  Paulina's  in  mag- 
nificence, but  Paulina's  still  continued  to  be  a  social 
centre  chiefly  through  Rosenblatt's  Influence.  For 
no  man  was  more  skilled  than  he  in  the  art  of  pro- 


BROTHER   AND   SISTER  171 

moting  sociability  as  an  investment.  There  was  still 
the  full  complement  of  boarders  filling  the  main  room 
and  the  basement,  and  these  formed  a  nucleus  around 
which  the  social  life  of  a  large  part  of  the  colony 
loved  to  gather. 

It  was  a  cold  evening  in  February.  The  mercury 
had  run  down  till  it  had  almost  disappeared  in  the 
bulb  and  Winnipeg  was  having  a  taste  of  forty  below. 
Through  this  exhilarating  air  Kalman  was  hurrying 
home  as  fast  as  his  sturdy  legs  could  take  him.  His 
fingers  were  numb  handhng  the  coins  received  from 
the  sale  of  his  papers,  but  the  boy  cared  nothing  for 
that.  He  had  had  a  good  afternoon  and  evening; 
for  with  the  Winnipeg  men  the  colder  the  night  the 
warmer  their  hearts,  and  these  fierce  February  days 
were  harvest  days  for  the  hardy  newsboys  crying 
their  wares  upon  the  streets.  So  the  sharp  cold 
only  made  Kalman  run  the  faster.  Above  him  twin- 
kled the  stars,  under  his  feet  sparkled  the  snow,  the 
keen  air  filled  his  lungs  with  ozone  that  sent  his  blood 
leaping  through  his  veins.  A  new  zest  was  added  to 
his  life  to-night,  for  as  he  ran  he  remembered  that  it 
was  a  feast  day  and  that  at  his  home  there  would 
be  good  eating  and  dance  and  song.  As  he  ran  he 
planned  how  ho  would  avoid  Rosenblatt  and  get 
past  him  into  Paulina's  room,  where  he  would  be 
safe,  and  where,  he  knew,  good  things  saved  from  the 
feast  for  him  by  his  sister  would  be  waiting  him.  To 
her  he  would  entrust  all  liis  cents  above  what  wa» 


172  THE    FOREIGNER 

due  to  Rosenblatt,  and  with  her  they  would  be  safe. 
For  by  neither  threatening  nor  wheedling  could 
Rosenblatt  extract  from  her  what  was  entrusted  to 
her  care,  as  he  could  from  the  slow-witted  Paulina. 

Keenly  sensitive  to  the  radiant  beauty  of  the  spark- 
ling night,  filled  with  the  pleasurable  anticipation '^ 
of  the  feast  before  him,  vibrating  in  every  nerve  with 
the  mere  joy  of  living  his  vigorous  young  life,  Kal- 
man  ran  along  at  full  speed,  singing  now  and  then  in 
breathless  snatches  a  wild  song  of  the  Hungarian 
plains.  Turning  a  sharp  comer  near  his  home,  he 
almost  overran  a  little  girl. 

"Kalman!"  she  cried  with  a  joyous  note  in  her 
voice. 

"Hello!  Elizabeth  Ketzel,  what  do  you  want.'^ " 
answered  the  boy,  pulling  up  panting. 

"Will  you  be  singing  to-night?  "  asked  the  little 
girl  timidly. 

"  Sure,  I  will,"  replied  the  lad,  who  had  already 
mastered  in  the  school  of  the  streets  the  intricacies 
of  the  Canadian  vernacular. 

"  I  wish  I  could  come  and  listen." 

"  It  is  no  place  for  little  girls,"  said  Kalman 
brusquely ;  then  noting  the  shadow  upon  the  face 
of  the  child,  he  added,  "  Perhaps  you  can  come  to 
the  back  window  and  Irma  will  let  you  in." 

"  I  '11  be  sure  to  come,"  said  FJizabeth  to  herself, 
for  Kalman  was  off  again  like  the  wind. 

Paulina's  house  was  overfloAvinc;  with  riotous  fes- 


BROTHER   AND   SISTER  173 

tivity.  Avoiding  the  front  door,  Kalman  ran  to  the 
back  of  the  house,  and  making  entrance  through  the 
window,  there  waited  for  his  sister.    Soon  she  came  in. 

"  Oh,  Kalman ! "  she  cried,  throwing  her  arms 
about  Mm  and  kissing  him,  "  such  a  feast  as  I  have 
saved  for  you !  And  you  are  cold.  Your  poor  fingers 
are  frozen." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,  Irma,"  said  the  boy  —  they  al- 
ways spoke  in  Russian,  these  two,  ever  since  the  de- 
parture of  their  father  —  "  but  I  am  hungry,  oh!  so 
hungry !  " 

Already  Irma  was  flying  about  the  room,  drawing 
from  holes  and  corners  the  bits  she  had  saved  from 
the  feast  for  her  brother.  She  spread  them  on  the 
bed  before  him. 

"  But  first,"  she  cried,  "  I  shall  bring  to  the  win- 
dow the  hot  stew.  Paulina,"  the  children  always  so 
spoke  of  her,  "  has  kept  it  hot  for  you,"  and  she 
darted  through  the  door. 

After  what  seemed  to  Kalman  a  very  long  time 
indeed,  she  appeared  at  the  window  with  a  covered 
dish  of  steaming  stew. 

"  What  kept  you  ?  "  said  her  brother  impatiently ; 
"  I  am  starved." 

"  That  nasty,  hateful,  little  Sprink,"  she  said. 
"  Here,  help  me  through."  She  looked  flushed  and 
angry,  her  "  burnin'  brown  eyes  "  shining  like  blaz- 
ing coals. 

"  What  is  the  matter.?  "  said  Kalman,  when  he  had 
a  moment's  leisure  to  observe  her. 


If4  THE   FOREIGNER 

"  He  is  very  rough  and  rude,"  said  the  girl,  "  and 
he  is  a  little  pig." 

Kalman  nodded  and  waited.  He  had  no  time  for 
mere  words. 

"  And  he  tried  to  kiss  me  just  now,"  she  continued 
indignantly. 

"  Well,  that 's  nothing,"  said  Kalman ;  "  they  all 
want  to  do  that." 

"  Not  for  months,  Kalman,"  protested  Irma,  "  and 
never  again,  and  especially  that  little  Sprink.  Never ! 
Never !  " 

As  Kalman  looked  at  her  erect  little  figure  and  her 
flushed  face,  it  dawned  on  him  that  a  change  had 
come  to  his  little  sister.     He  paused  in  Ins  eating. 

"  Irma,"  he  said,  "  what  have  you  done  to  your- 
self? Is  it  your  hair  that  you  have  been  putting  up 
on  your  head.'*  No,  it  is  not  your  hair.  You  are  not 
the  same.  You  are  —  "  he  paused  to  consider,  "  yes, 
that 's  it.    You  are  a  lady." 

The  anger  died  out  of  Irma's  brown  eyes  and 
flushed  face.  A  soft  and  tender  and  mysterious 
light  suffused  her  countenance. 

"  No,  I  am  not  a  lady,"  she  said,  "  but  jj-ou  remem- 
ber what  father  said.  Our  mother  was  a  lady,  and  I 
am  going  to  be  one." 

Almost  never  had  the  children  spoken  of  their 
mother.  The  subject  was  at  once  too  sacred  and  too 
terrible  for  common  speech.  Kalman  laid  down  hia 
spoon. 


BROTHER   AND   SISTER  17« 

**  I  remember,"  he  said  after  a  few  moments'  silence. 
A  shadow  lay  upon  his  face.  "  She  was  a  lady,  and 
she  died  in  the  snow."  His  voice  sank  to  a  whisper. 
"  Was  n't  it  awful,  Irma?  " 

"  Yes,  Kalman  dear,"  said  his  sister,  sitting  down 
beside  him  and  putting  her  arms  about  his  neck,  "  but 
she  had  no  pain,  and  she  was  not  afraid." 

"  No,"  said  the  boy  ^vith  a  ring  in  his  voice,  "  she 
was  not  afraid;  nor  was  father  afraid,  either."  He 
rose  from  his  meal. 

"  Why,  Kalman,"  exclaimed  his  sister,  "  you  are 
not  half  done  your  feast.  There  are  such  lots  of  nice 
things  yet." 

"  I  can't  eat,  Irma,  when  I  think  of  that  —  of  that 
man.     I  choke  here,"  pointing  to  his  throat. 

"  Well,  well,  we  won't  think  of  liim  to-night.  Some 
day  very  soon,  we  shall  be  free  from  him.  Sit  down 
and  eat." 

But  the  boy  remained  standing,  his  face  overcast 
with  a  fierce  frown. 

"  Some  day,"  he  muttered,  more  to  himself  than  to 
his  sister,  "  I  shall  kill  him." 

"  Not  to-day,  at  any  rate,  Kalman,"  said  his 
sister,  brightening  up.  "  Let  us  forget  it  to-night. 
Look  at  this  pie.  It  is  from  Mrs.  Fitzpatrick,  and 
this  pudding." 

The  boy  allowed  his  look  to  linger  upon  the  dain- 
ties. He  was  a  healthy  boy  and  very  hungry.  As  he 
looked  his  appetite  returned.  He  shook  himself  as 
if  throwing  off  a  burden. 


176  THE    FOREIGNER 

"  No,  not  to-night,"  he  said ;  "  I  am  not  going  to 
stop  my  feast  for  him." 

"  No,  indeed,"  cried  Irma.  "  Come  quick  and  finish 
your  feast.  Oh,  what  eating  we  have  had,  and  then 
what  dancing !  And  they  all  want  to  dance  with  me," 
she  continued,  —  "  Jacob  and  Henry  and  Nicholas, 
and  they  are  all  nice  except  that  horrid  little  Sprink." 

"  Did  you  not  dance  with  him  ?  " 

*'  Yes,"  replied  his  sister,  making  a  little  face,  "  I 
danced  with  him  too,  but  he  wants  me  to  dance  with 
no  one  else,  and  I  don't  like  that.  He  makes  me 
afraid,  too,  just  like  Rosenblatt." 

"  Afraid !  "  said  her  brother  scornfully. 

"  No,  not  afraid,"  said  Irma  quickly.  "  But  never 
mind,  here  is  the  pudding.     I  am  sorry  it  is  cold." 

"  All  right,"  said  the  boy,  mumbling  with  a  full 
mouth,  "  it  is  fine.  Don't  you  be  afraid  of  that 
Sprink ;    I  '11  knock  his  head  off  if  he  harms  you." 

"  Not  yet,  Kalman,"  said  Irma,  smiling  at  him. 
"  Wait  a  year  or  two  before  you  talk  like  that." 

"  A  year  or  two !     I  shall  be  a  man  then." 

"  Oh,  indeed !  "  mocked  his  sister,  "  a  man  of  fifteen 
years." 

"  You  are  only  fifteen  yourself,"  said  Kalman. 

"  And  a  half,"  she  interrupted. 

"  And  look  at  you  with  your  dress  and  your  hair 
up  on  your  head,  and  —  and  I  am  a  boy.  But  I  am 
not  afraid  of  Sprink.     Only  yesterday  I  —  " 

*'  Oh,  I  know  you  were  fighting  again.     You  are 


BROTHER   AND   SISTER  177 

terrible,  Kalman.  I  hear  all  the  boys  talking  about 
you,  and  the  girls  too.  Did  you  beat  him?  But  of 
course  you  did." 

**  I  don't  know,"  said  her  brother  doubtfully, 
"  but  I  don't  think  he  will  bother  me  any  more." 

"  Oh,  Kalman,"  said  his  sister  anxiously,  "  why 
do  you  fight  so  much?  " 

"  They  make  me  fight,"  said  the  boy.  "  They  try 
to  drive  me  off  the  corner,  and  he  called  me  a  greasy 
Dook.  But  I  showed  him  I  am  no  Doukhobor. 
Doukhobors  won't  fight." 

"  Tell  me,"  cried  his  sister,  her  face  aglow  —  "  but 
no,  I  don't  want  to  hear  about  it.  Did  you  —  how 
did  you  beat  him.''  But  you  should  not  fight  so,  Kal- 
man." In  spite  of  herself  she  could  not  avoid  showing 
her  interest  in  the  fight  and  her  pride  in  her  fighting 
brother. 

"Why  not?"  said  her  brother;  "it  is  right  to 
fight  for  your  rights,  and  if  they  bother  me  or  try 
to  crowd  me  off,  I  will  fight  till  I  die." 

But  Irma  shook  her  head  at  him. 

"Well,  never  mind  just  now,"  she  cried.  "Listen 
to  the  noise.  That  is  Jacob  singing;  is  n't  it  awful? 
Are  you  going  in?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am.  Here  is  my  money,  Irma,  and  that 
is  for  —  that  brute.  Give  it  to  Paulina  for  him.  I 
can  hardly  keep  my  knife  out  of  him.  Some  day  —  " 
The  boy  closed  his  lips  hard. 

"  No,  no,  Kalman,"  implored  his  sister,  "  that  must 
12 


178  THE    FOREIGNER 

not  be,  not  now  nor  ever.     This  is  not  Russia,  or 
Hungary,  but  Canada." 

The  boy  made  no  reply. 

"  Hurry  and  wash  yourself  and  come  out.  They 
will  want  you  to  sing.     I  shall  wait  for  you." 

"  No,  no,  go  on.    I  shall  come  after." 

A  shout  greeted  the  girl  as  she  entered  the  crowded 
room.  There  was  no  one  hke  her  in  the  dances  of  her 
people. 

"  It  is  my  dance,"  cried  one. 

"  Not  so ;   she  is  promised  to  me." 

"  I  tell  you  this  mazurka  is  mine." 

So  they  crowded  about  her  in  eager  but  good- 
natured  contention. 

"  I  cannot  dance  with  you  all,"  cried  the  girl, 
laughing,  "  and  so  I  will  dance  by  myself." 

At  this  there  was  a  shout  of  applause,  and  in  a 
moment  more  she  was  whirling  in  the  bewildering 
intricacies  of  a  pas  seul  followed  in  every  step  by  the 
admiring  gaze  and  the  enthusiastic  plaudits  of  the 
whole  company.  As  she  finished,  laughing  and 
breathless,  she  caught  sight  of  Kalman,  who  had  just 
entered. 

"  There,"  she  exclaimed,  "  I  have  lost  my  breath, 
and  Kalman  will  sino*  now." 

Immediately  her  suggestion  was  taken  up  on  every 
hand. 

"A  song!  A  song!"  they  shouted.  "Kalman 
Kalmar  will  sing !     Come,  Kalman,  '  The  Shepherd's 


BROTHER   AND   SISTER  179 

Love.'  "  "  No,  '  The  Soldier's  Bride.'  "  "  No,  no, 
'  My  Sword  and  my  Cup.'  " 

"  First  my  own  cup,"  cried  the  boy,  pressing 
toward  the  beer  keg  in  the  corner  and  catching  up  a 
mug. 

"  Give  him  another,"  shouted  a  voice. 

"  No,  Kahnan,"  said  his  sister  in  a  low  voice,  "  no 
more  beer." 

But  the  boy  only  laughed  at  her  as  he  filled  his 
mug  again. 

"  I  am  too  full  to  sing  just  now,"  he  cried;  "  let 
us  dance,"  and,  seizing  Irma,  he  carried  her  off  under 
the  nose  of  the  disappointed  Sprink,  joining  with 
the  rest  in  one  of  the  many  fascinating  dances  of  the 
Hungarian  people. 

But  the  song  was  only  postponed.  In  every  social 
function  of  the  foreign  colony,  Kalman's  singing  was 
a  feature.  The  boy  loved  to  sing  and  was  ever  ready 
to  respond  to  any  request  for  a  song.  So  when  the 
cry  for  a  song  rose  once  more,  Kalman  was  ready 
and  eager.  He  sprang  upon  a  beer  keg  and  cried, 
"What  shall  it  be.?" 

"  My  song,"  said  Irma,  who  stood  close  to  him. 

The  boy  shook  his  head.     "  Not  yet." 

"  '  The  Soldier's  Bride,'  "  cried  a  voice,  and  Kalman 
began  to  sing.  He  had  a  beautiful  face  with  regular 
clean-cut  features,  and  the  fair  hair  and  blue  grey 
eyes  often  seen  in  South  Eastern  Russia.  As  he 
sang,  his  face  reflected  the  passing  shades  of  feeling 


180  THE    FOREIGNER 

in  his  heart  as  a  windless  lake  the  cloud  and  sunlight 
of  a  summer  sky.  The  song  was  a  kind  of  Hungarian 
"  Young  Locliinvar."  The  soldier  lover,  young  and 
handsome,  is  away  in  the  wars  ;  the  beautiful  maiden, 
forced  into  a  hateful  union  with  a  wealthy  land  owner, 
old  and  ugly,  stands  before  the  priest  at  the  altar. 
But  hark!  ere  the  fateful  vows  are  spoken  there  is 
a  clatter  of  galloping  hoofs,  a  manly  form  rushes  in, 
hurls  the  groom  insensible  to  the  ground,  snatches 
away  the  bride  and  before  any  can  interfere,  is  off 
on  a  coal-black  steed,  liis  bride  before  him.  Let  him 
follow  who  dares ! 

The  boy  had  a  voice  of  remarkable  range  and 
clearness,  and  he  rendered  the  song  with  a  verve  and 
dramatic  force  remarkable  in  one  of  his  age.  The 
song  was  received  with  wild  cheers  and  loud  demands 
for  more.  The  boy  was  about  to  refuse,  when  through 
the  crowding  faces,  all  aglow  with  enthusiastic  de- 
light, he  saw  the  scowling  face  of  Rosenblatt.  A 
fierce  rage  seized  him.     He  hesitated  no  longer. 

"  Yes,  another  song,"  he  cried,  and  springing  to 
the  side  of  the  musicians  he  hummed  the  air,  and  then 
took  his  place  again  upon  the  beer  keg. 

Before  the  musicians  had  finished  the  introductory 
bars,  Irma  came  to  his  side  and  entreated,  "  Oh,  Kal- 
man,  not  that  one !    Not  that  one !  " 

But  it  was  as  though  he  did  not  hear  her.  His 
face  was  set  and  white,  his  blue  eyes  glowed  black. 
He  stood  with  lips  parted,  waiting  for  the  cue  to 


BROTHER   AND   SISTER  181 

begin.  His  audience,  to  most  of  whom  the  song  was 
known,  caught  by  a  mysterious  telepathy  the  tense 
emotion  of  the  boy,  and  stood  silent  and  eager,  all 
smiles  gone  from  their  faces.  The  song  was  in  the 
Ruthenian  tongue,  but  was  the  heart  cry  of  a  Russian 
exile,  a  cry  for  freedom  for  his  native  land,  for  death 
to  the  tyrant,  for  vengeance  on  the  traitor.  No- 
where in  all  the  Czar's  dominions  dared  any  man  sing 
that  song. 

As  the  boy's  strong,  clear  voice  rang  out  in  the  last 
cry  for  vengeance,  there  thrilled  in  his  tones  an  in- 
tensity of  passion  that  gripped  hard  the  hearts  of 
those  who  had  known  all  their  lives  long  the  bitter- 
ness of  tyranny  unspeakable.  In  the  last  word  the 
lad's  voice  broke  in  a  sob.  Most  of  that  company 
knew  the  boy's  story,  and  knew  that  he  was  singing 
out  his  heart's  deepest  passion. 

When  the  song  was  finished,  there  was  silence  for 
a  few  brief  moments ;  then  a  man,  a  Russian,  caught 
the  boy  in  his  arms,  lifted  him  on  his  shoulder  and 
carried  him  round  the  room,  the  rest  of  the  men 
madly  cheering.  All  but  one.  Trembling  with  in- 
articulate rage,  Rosenblatt  strode  to  the  musicians. 

"  Listen !  "  he  hissed  with  an  oath.  "  Do  I  pay  you 
for  this  ?  No  more  of  this  folly !  Play  up  a  czardas, 
and  at  once !  " 

The  musicians  hastened  to  obey,  and  before  the 
cheers  had  died,  the  strains  of  the  czardas  filled  the 
room.     With  the  quick  reaction  from  the  tragic  ta 


182  THE    FOREIGNER 

the  gay,  the  company  swung  into  this  joyous  and 
exciting  dance.  Samuel  Sprink,  seizing  Irma,  whirled 
her  off  into  the  crowd  struggling  and  protesting,  but 
all  in  vain.  After  the  dance  there  v^^as  a  general 
rush  for  the  beer  keg,  with  much  noise  and  good- 
natured  horse  play.  At  the  other  end  of  the  room, 
however,  there  was  a  fierce  struggle  going  on.  Sam- 
uel Sprink,  excited  by  the  dance  and,  it  must  be  con- 
fessed, by  an  unusual  devotion  to  the  beer  keg  that 
evening,  was  still  retaining  his  hold  of  Irma,  and 
was  making  determined  efforts  to  Idss  her. 

"  Let  me  go !  "  cried  the  girl,  stiniggling  to  free 
herself.    "  You  must  not  touch  me !    Let  me  go !  " 

"  Oh,  come  now,  little  one,"  said  Samuel  pleasantly, 
"  don't  be  so  mighty  stiff  about  it.  One  kiss  and  I 
let  you  go." 

"  That 's  right,  Samuel,  my  boy,"  shouted  Rosen- 
blatt; "  she  only  wants  coaxing  just  a  little  mucher." 

Rosenblatt's  words  were  followed  by  a  choinis  of 
encouraging  cheers,  for  Samuel  was  not  unpopular 
among  the  men,  and  none  could  sec  any  good  reason 
why  a  girl  should  object  to  be  kissed,  especially  by 
such  a  man  as  Samuel,  who  was  already  so  prosper- 
ous and  who  had  such  bright  prospects  for  the  future. 

But  Irma  continued  to  struggle,  till  Kalman,  run- 
ning to  her  side,  cried,  "Let  my  sister  go!" 

"  Go  away,  Kalman.  I  am  not  hurting  your  sister. 
It 's  only  fun.     Go  away,"  said  Sprink. 

"  She  does  not  think  it  fun,"  said  the  boy  quietly. 
**  Let  her  go." 


BROTHER   AND    SISTER  183 

"Oh,  go  away,  you  leetle  kid.  Go  away  and  sit 
down.     You  think  yourself  too  much." 

It  was  Rosenblatt's  harsh  voice.  As  he  spoke,  he 
seized  the  boy  by  the  collar  and  with  a  quick  jerk 
flung  him  back  among  the  crowd.  It  was  as  if  he 
had  fired  some  secret  magazine  of  passion  in  the  boy's 
heart.  Uttering  the  wild  cry  of  a  mad  thing,  Kalman 
sprang  at  him  with  such  lightning  swiftness  that 
Rosenblatt  was  borne  back  and  would  have  fallen, 
but  for  those  behind.  Recovering  liimself,  he  dealt 
the  boy  a  heavy  blow  in  the  face  that  staggered  him 
for  a  moment,  but  only  for  a  moment.  It  seemed  as 
if  the  boy  had  gone  mad.  With  the  same  wild  cry, 
and  this  time  with  a  knife  open  in  his  hand,  he  sprang 
at  his  hated  enemy,  stabbing  quick,  fierce  stabs.  But 
this  time  Rosenblatt  was  ready.  Taking  the  boy's 
stabs  on  his  arm,  he  struck  the  boy  a  terrific  blow  on 
the  neck.  As  Kalman  fell,  he  clutched  and  hung  to  his 
foe,  who,  seizing  him  by  the  throat,  dragged  him 
swiftly  toward  the  door. 

"  Hold  this  shut,"  he  said  to  a  friend  of  his  who 
was  following  him  close. 

After  they  had  passed  through,  the  man  shut  the 
door  and  held  it  fast,  keeping  the  crowd  from  getting 
out. 

"  Now,"  said  Rosenblatt,  dragging  the  half-in- 
sensible boy  around  to  the  back  of  the  house,  "  the 
time  is  come.  The  chance  is  too  good.  You  try  to 
kill  me,  but  there  will  be  one  less  Kalmar  in  the  world 


184  THE   FOREIGNER 

to-night.  There  will  be  a  little  pay  back  of  my  debt 
to  your  cursed  father.  Take  that  —  and  that."  As 
he  spoke  the  words,  he  struck  the  boy  hard  upon  the 
head  and  face,  and  then  jflinging  him  down  in  the 
snow,  proceeded  deliberately  to  kick  him  to  death. 

But  even  as  he  threw  the  boy  down,  a  shrill  scream- 
ing pierced  through  the  quiet  of  the  night,  and  from 
the  back  of  the  house  a  little  girl  ran  shrieking.  "  He 
is  kiUing  him !     He  is  killing  liim !  " 

It  was  httle  Elizabeth  Ketzel,  who  had  been  let  in 
through  the  back  window  to  hear  Kalman  sing,  and 
who,  at  the  first  appearance  of  trouble,  had  fled  by 
the  way  she  had  entered,  meeting  Rosenblatt  as  he 
appeared  dragging  the  insensible  boy  through  the 
snow.  Her  shrieks  arrested  the  man  in  his  murderous 
purpose.  He  turned  and  fled,  leaving  the  boy  bleed- 
ins  and  insensible  in  the  snow. 

As  Rosenblatt  disappeared,  a  cutter  drove  rap- 
idly up. 

"  What 's  the  row,  kiddie  ?  "  said  a  man,  springing 
out.  It  was  Dr.  Wright,  returning  from  &  midnight 
trip  to  one  of  his  patients  in  the  foreign  colony. 
"Wlio's  killing  who.?" 

"  It  is  Kalman ! "  cried  Ehzabeth,  "  and  he  is 
dead !     Oh,  he  is  dead !  " 

The  doctor  knelt  beside  the  boy.  "  Great  Cassar ! 
It  surely  is  my  friend  Kalman,  and  in  a  bad  way. 
Some  more  vendetta  business,  I  have  no  doubt.  Now 
what  in  thunder  is  that,  do  you  suppose?"     From 


BROTHER   AND   SISTER  185 

the  house  came  a  continuous  shrieking.  "  Some  more 
killing,  I  guess.  Here,  throw  this  robe  about  the 
boy  while  I  see  about  this." 

He  ran  to  the  door  and  kicked  it  open.  It  seemed 
as  if  the  whole  company  of  twenty  or  thirty  men  were 
every  man  fighting.  As  the  doctor  paused  to  get 
his  bearings,  he  saw  across  the  room  in  the  farthest 
corner,  Irma  screaming  as  she  struggled  in  the  grasp 
of  Samuel  Sprink,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  room 
Paulina  fighting  like  a  demon  and  uttering  strange 
weird  cries.  She  was  trying  to  force  her  way  to  the 
door. 

As  she  caught  sight  of  the  doctor,  she  threw  out 
her  hands  toward  him  with  a  loud  cry.  "  Kalman  — 
killing !    Kalman  —  killing !  "  was  all  she  could  say. 

The  doctor  thrust  himself  forward  through  the 
struggling  men,  crying  in  a  loud  voice,  "  Here,  you, 
let  that  woman  go!  And  you  there,  let  that  girl 
alone !  " 

Most  of  the  men  knew  him,  and  at  his  words  they 
immediately  ceased  fighting. 

"  What  the  deuce  are  you  at,  anjrway ,  you  men  ?  " 
he  continued,  as  Paulina  and  the  girl  sprang  past 
him  and  out  of  the  door.  "  Do  you  fight  with 
women.'*  " 

"  No,"  said  one  of  the  men.  "  Dis  man,"  pointing 
to  Sprink,  "  he  mak  fun  wit  de  girl." 

"  Mighty  poor  fuK,"  said  the  doctor,  turning 
toward  Sprink.  "  And  who  has  been  killing  that 
boy  outside.''  " 


186  THE   FOREIGNER 

"  It  is  that  young  devil  Kalman,  who  has  been  try- 
ing to  kill  Mr.  Rosenblatt,"  replied  Sprink. 

"  Oh,  indeed,"  said  the  doctor,  "  and  what  wa8 
the  gentle  Mr.  Rosenblatt  doing  meantime?  " 

"Rosenblatt?"  cried  Jacob  Wassyl,  coming  for- 
ward excitedly.  "  He  mak  for  hurt  dat  boy.  Dis 
man,"  pointing  to  Sprink,  "  he  try  for  kiss  dat  girl. 
Boy  he  say  stop.  Rosenblatt  he  trow  boy  back.  Boy 
he  fight." 

"  Look  here,"  Jacob,"  said  Dr.  Wright,  "  you  get 
these  men's  names  —  this  man,"  pointing  to  Sprink, 
"  and  a  dozen  more  —  and  we  '11  make  this  interest- 
ing for  Rosenblatt  in  the  police  court  to-morrow 
morning." 

Outside  the  house  the  doctor  found  Paulina  sitting 
in  the  snow  with  Kalman's  head  in  her  lap,  swaying 
to  and  fro  muttering  and  groaning.  Beside  her  stood 
Irma  and  Elizabeth  Ketzel  weeping  wildly.  The 
doctor  raised  the  boy  gently. 

"  Get  into  the  cutter,"  he  said  to  Paulina.  Irma 
translated.  The  woman  ran  without  a  word,  seated 
herself  in  the  cutter  and  held  out  her  arms  for  the 
boy. 

"  That  will  do,"  said  the  doctor,  laying  Kalman 
in  her  arms.  "  Now  get  some  shawls,  quilts  or  some- 
thing for  your  mother  and  yourself,  or  you  '11  freeze 
to  death,  and  come  along." 

The  girl  rushed  away  and  returned  in  a  few  mo- 
ments with  a  bundle  of  shawls. 


BROTHER   AND   SISTER  187 

**  Get  in^"  said  the  doctor,  "  and  be  quick." 

The  men  were  crowding  about. 

"  Now,  Jacob,"  said  the  doctor,  turning  to  Wassyl, 
who  stood  near,  "  you  get  me  those  names  and  we  '11 
get  after  that  man,  you  bet !  or  I  'm  a  Turk.  This 
boy  is  going  to  die,  sure." 

As  he  spoke,  he  sprang  into  his  cutter  and  sent  his 
horse  off  at  a  gallop,  for  by  the  boy's  breathing  he 
felt  that  the  chances  of  life  were  shpping  swiftlj^ 
away. 


188  THE   FOREIGNER 


CHAPTER   X 

JACK    FRENCH    OF    THE    NIGHT    HAWK    EANCH 

A  MAP  of  Western  Canada  showing  the  physical 
features  of  the  country  lying  between  the 
mountains  on  the  one  side  and  the  Bay  and  the  Lakes 
on  the  other,  presents  the  appearance  of  a  vast  roll- 
ing plain  scarred  and  seamed  and  pitted  like  an  an- 
cient face.  These  scars  and  seams  and  pits  are  great 
lazy  rivers,  meandering  streams,  lakes,  sleughs  and 
marshes  which  form  one  vast  system  of  waters  that 
wind  and  curve  through  the  rolls  of  the  prairie  and 
nestle  in  its  sunlit  hollows,  laving,  draining,  blessing 
where  they  go  and  where  they  stay. 

By  these,  the  countless  herds  of  buffalo  and  deer 
quenched  their  thirst  in  the  days  when  they,  with 
their  rival  claimants  for  the  land,  the  Black  Feet  and 
the  Crees,  roamed  undisturbed  over  these  mighty 
plains.  These  waterways  in  later  days  when  The 
Honourable  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  ruled  the 
West,  formed  the  great  highways  of  barter.  By  these 
teeming  lakes  and  sleughs  and  marshes  hunted  and 
trapped  Indians  and  half-breeds.  Down  these  streams 
and  rivers  floated  the  great  fur  brigades  in  canoe  and 


JACK   FRENCH  189 

Hudson's  Bay  pointer  with  priceless  bales  of  pelts  to 
the  Bay  in  the  north  or  the  Lakes  in  the  south,  on 
their  way  to  that  centre  of  the  world's  trade,  old 
London.  And  up  these  streams  and  rivers  went  the 
great  loads  of  supplies  and  merchandise  for  the  far- 
away posts  that  were  at  once  the  seats  of  govern- 
ment and  the  emporiums  of  trade  in  this  wide  land. 

Following  the  canoe  and  Hudson's  Bay  boat,  came 
the  river  barge  and  side-wheeler,  and  with  these,  com- 
peting for  trade,  the  overland  freighter  with  ox 
train  and  pack  pony,  with  Red  River  cart  and 
shagginappi. 

Still  later,  up  these  same  waterways  and  along 
these  trails  came  settlers  singly  or  in  groups,  the 
daring  vanguard  of  an  advancing  civihzation,  and 
planted  themselves  as  pleased  their  fancy  in  choice 
spots,  in  sunny  nooks  sheltered  by  bluffs,  by  gem- 
like lakes  or  flowing  streams,  but  mostly  on  the  banks 
of  the  great  rivers,  the  highways  for  their  trade,  the 
shining  links  that  held  them  to  their  kind.  Some 
there  were  among  those  hardy  souls  who,  severing  all 
bonds  behind  them,  sought  only  escape  from  their 
fellow  men  and  from  their  past.  These  left  the  great 
riverways  and  freighting  trails,  and  pressing  up  the 
streams  to  distant  head  waters,  there  pitched  their 
camp  and  there,  in  lonely,  lordly  independence,  took 
rich  toll  of  prairie,  lake  and  stream  as  they  needed 
for  their  living. 

Such  a  man  was  Jack  French,  and  such  a  spot  was 


190  THE   FOREIGNER 

Night  Hawk  Lake,  whose  shining  waters  found  a  toi^ 
tuous  escape  four  miles  away  by  Night  Hawk  CreeS 
into  the  South  Saskatchewan,  king  of  rivers. 

The  two  brothers,  Jack  and  Herbert  French,  of 
good  old  English  stock,  finding  life  in  the  trim  downs 
of  Devon  too  confined  and  wearisome  for  their  adven- 
turous spirits,  fell  to  walking  seaward  over  the  high 
head  lands,  and  to  listening  and  gazing,  the  soft 
spray  dashing  wet  upon  their  faces,  till  they  found 
eyes  and  ears  filled  with  the  sights  and  sounds  of 
far,  wide  plains  across  the  sea  that  called  and  beck- 
oned, till  in  the  middle  seventies,  with  their  mother's 
kiss  trembling  on  their  brows  and  on  their  lips,  and 
their  father's  almost  stern  benediction  stiffening  their 
backs,  they  fared  forth  to  the  far  West,  and  found 
themselves  on  the  black  trail  that  wound  up  the  Red 
River  of  the  North  and  reached  the  straggling  ham- 
let of  Winnipeg. 

There,  in  one  of  Winnipeg's  homes,  they  found 
generous  welcome  and  a  maiden,  guarded  by  a  stem 
old  timer  for  a  father  and  four  stalwart  plain-riding 
brothers,  but  guarded  all  in  vain,  for  laughing  at  all 
such  guarding,  the  two  brothers  with  the  hot  selfish- 
ness of  young  love,  each  unaware  of  the  other's  intent, 
sought  to  rifle  that  house  of  its  chief  treasure. 

To  Herbert,  the  younger,  that  ardent  pirate  of  her 
heart,  the  maiden  struck  her  flaming  flag,  and  on  the 
same  night,  with  fearful  dismay,  she  sought  pardon 
of  the  elder  brother  that  she  could  not  yield  him  liks 


JACK   FRENCH  191 

surrender.  With  pale  appealing  face  and  kind  blue 
eyes,  she  sought  forgiveness  for  her  poverty. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  French,"  she  cried,  "  if  I  only  could ! 
But  I  cannot  give  you  what  is  Herbert's  now." 

"  Herbert !  "  gasped  Jack  with  parched  lips. 

"  And  oh.  Jack,"  she  cried  again  with  sweet  self- 
ishness, "  you  will  love  Herbert  still,  and  me?  " 

And  Jack,  having  had  a  moment  in  which  to  sum- 
mon up  the  reserves  of  his  courage  and  his  com- 
mand, smiled  into  her  appealing  eyes,  kissed  her  pale 
face,  and  still  smiling,  took  his  way,  unseeing  and 
unheeding  all  but  those  appealing,  tearful  eyes  and 
that  pleading  voice  asking  with  sweet  selfishness  only 
his  life. 

Three  months  he  roamed  the  plains  alone,  finding 
at  length  one  sunny  day,  Night  Hawk  Lake,  whose 
fair  and  lonely  wildness  seemed  to  suit  his  mood,  and 
there  he  pitched  his  camp.  Thence  back  to  Winnipeg 
a  month  later  to  his  brother's  wedding,  and  that 
over,  still  smiling,  to  take  his  way  again  to  Night 
Hawk  Lake,  where  ever  since  he  spent  his  life. 

He  passed  his  days  at  first  in  building  house  and 
,  stables  from  the  poplar  bluffs  at  hand,  and  later  in 
growing  with  little  toil  from  the  rich  black  land  and 
taking  from  prairie,  lake  and  creek  with  rifle  and 
with  net,  what  was  necessary  for  himself  and  his  man, 
the  Scotch  half-breed  Mackenzie,  all  the  while  forget- 
ting till  he  could  forget  no  longer,  and  then  with 
Mackenzie  drinking  deep  and  long  till  remembering 
and  forgetting  were  the  same. 


192  THE   FOREIGNER 

After  five  years  he  returned  to  Winnipeg  to  stand 
by  her  side  whose  image  lived  ever  in  his  heart,  while 
they  closed  down  the  coffin  lid  upon  the  face  dearest 
to  her,  dearest  but  one  to  him  of  all  faces  in  the 
world.  Then  when  he  had  comforted  her  with  what 
comfort  he  had  to  give,  he  set  face  again  toward 
Night  Hawk  Lake,  leaving  her,  because  she  so  desired 
it,  alone  but  for  her  aged  mother,  bereft  of  all,  hus- 
band, brothers,  father,  who  might  guard  her  from 
the  world's  harm. 

"  I  am  safe,  dear  Jack,"  she  said,  "  God  will  let 
nothing  harm  me." 

And  Jack,  smiling  bravely  still,  went  on  his  way 
and  for  a  whole  year  lived  for  the  monthly  letter  that 
advancing  civilization  had  come  to  make  possible  to 
him. 

The  last  letter  of  the  year  brought  him  the  word 
that  she  was  alone.  That  night  Jack  French  packed 
his  buckboard  with  grub  for  his  six-hundred-mile 
journey,  and  at  the  end  of  the  third  week,  for  the 
trail  was  heavy  on  the  Portage  Plains,  he  drove  his 
limping  broncho  up  the  muddy  Main  Street  of 
Winnipeg. 

When  the  barber  had  finished  with  him,  he  set  forth 
to  find  his  brother's  wife,  who,  seeing  him,  turned 
deadly  pale  and  stood  looking  sadly  at  him,  her  hand 
pressed  hard  upon  her  heart. 

"  Oh,  Jack ! "  she  said  at  length,  with  a  great  pity 
in  her  voice,  —  "  poor  Jack!   why  did  you  come?  " 


JACK  FEENCH  193 

**  To  make  you  a  home  with  me,"  said  Jack,  look-'" 

ing  at  her  with  eyes  full  of  longing,  "  and  wherever 
you  choose,  here  or  yonder  at  the  Night  Hawk, 
Ranch,  which  is  much  better,"  —  at  wliich  her  tears 
began  to  flow. 

"  Poor  Jack !  Dear  Jack !  "  she  cried,  "  why  did 
you  come?  " 

"  You  know  why/'  he  said.  "  Can  you  not  learn 
to  love  m.e?  " 

"  Love  you.  Jack?    I  could  not  love  you  more." 

"  Can  you  not  come  to  me?  " 

"  Dear  Jack !  Poor  Jack !  "  she  said  again,  and 
fell  to  sobbing  bitterly  till  he  forgot  his  own  grief  in 
hers.     "  I  love  my  husband  still." 

"  And  I  too,"  said  Jack,  looking  pitifully  at  her. 

"  And  I  must  keep  my  heart  for  him  till  I  see  him 
again."  Her  voice  sank  to  a  whisper,  but  she  stood 
bravely  looking  into  his  eyes,  her  two  hands  holding 
down  her  fluttering  heart  as  if  in  fear  that  it  might 
escape. 

"  And  is  that  the  last  word?  "  said  Jack  wearily. 

"  Yes,  Jack,  my  brother,  my  dear,  dear  brother," 
she  said,  "  it  is  the  last.  And  oh.  Jack,  I  have  had 
much  sorrow,  but  none  more  bitter  than  this !  "  And 
sobbing  uncontrollably,  she  laid  herself  on  his  breast. 

Pie  held  her  to  him,  stroking  her  beautiful  hair, 
his  brown  hand  trembling  and  his  strong  face  twist- 
ing strangely. 

"  Don't  cry,  dear  Margaret.     Don't  cry  like  thai* 
13 


194  THE    FOREIGNER 

I  won't  make  you  weep.  Never  mind.  You  could  not 
help  it.  And  —  I  '11  —  get  —  over  it  —  somehow. 
Only  don't  cry." 

Then  when  she  grew  quiet  again  he  kissed  her  and 
went  out,  smiling  back  at  her  as  he  went,  and  for 
/fifteen  years  never  saw  her  face  again. 

But  month  by  month  there  came  a  letter  telling 
him  of  her  and  her  work,  and  this  helped  him  to  for- 
get his  pair..  But  more  and  more  often  as  the  years 
went  on.  Jack  French  and  his  man  Mackenzie  sat 
long  nights  in  the  bare  ranch  house  with  a  bottle 
between  them,  till  Mackenzie  fell  under  the  table  and 
Jack  with  his  hard  head  and  his  lonely  heart  was  left 
by  himself,  staring  at  the  fire  if  in  winter,  or  out  of 
the  window  at  the  lake  if  in  summer,  till  the  light  on 
the  water  grew  red,  to  his  great  hurt  in  body  and  in 
soul. 

One  spring  day  in  the  sixteenth  year,  in  the  middle 

of  the  month  of  May,  when  Jack  had  driven  to  the 

Crossing  for  supplies,  an  unexpected  letter  met  him, 

which  gave  him  much  concern  and  changed  forever 

tlie  even  current  of  his  life.     And  this  was  the  letter : 
J 

*  My  dear  Jack,  —  You  have  not  yet  answered 
my  last,  you  bad  boy,  but  you  know  I  do  not  wait 
for  answers,  or  you  would  seldom  hear  from  me.* 
*'  And  that 's  true  enough,"  murmured  Jack.  '  But 
this  is  a  special  letter,  and  is  to  ask  you  to  do  a  great 
thing  for  me,  a  very  great  thing.  Indeed,  you  may 
Slot  be  able  to  do  it  at  all.'     "  Indeed !  "  said  Jacka 


JACK   FRENCH  19* 

*  And  if  you  cannot  do  it,  I  trust  you  to  tell  me  so.' 
"  Trust  me !   well  rather,"  said  Jack  again. 

*  You  know  something  of  my  work  among  the  Gali- 
cians,  but  you  do  not  know  just  how  sad  it  often  is. 
They  are  poor  ignorant  creatures,  but  really  they 
have  kind  hearts  and  have  many  nice  things.'  "  By 
Jove !  She  'd  find  good  points  in  the  very  devil  him- 
self !  "  '  And  I  know  you  would  pity  them  if  3^ou 
knew  them,  especially  the  women  and  the  children. 
The  women  have  to  work  so  hard,  and  the  children 
are  growing  up  wild,  learning  little  of  the  good  and 
much  of  the  bad  that  Winnipeg  streets  can  teach 
them.'  "  Heaven  help  them  of  their  school !  "  cried 
Jack. 

'  Well,  I  must  tell  you  what  I  want.  You  remem- 
ber seeing  in  the  papers  that  I  sent  you  some  years 
ago,  the  account  of  that  terrible  murder  by  a  Rus- 
sian Nihilist  named  Kalmar,  and  you  remember  per- 
haps how  he  nearly  killed  a  horrid  man  who  had 
treated  him  badly,  very  badly,  named  Rosenblatt. 
Well,  perhaps  you  remember  that  Kalmar  escaped 
from  the  penitentiary,  and  has  not  been  heard  of 
since.  His  wife  and  children  have  somehow  come 
under  the  power  of  this  Rosenblatt  again.  He  has 
got  a  mortgage  on  her  house  and  forces  the  woman 
to  do  his  will.  The  woman  is  a  poor  stupid  creature, 
and  she  has  just  slaved  away  for  this  man.  The  boy 
js  different.  He  is  a  fine  handsome  little  fellow,  thir- 
teen or  fourteen  years  old,  who  makes  his  living  sell- 
ing newspapers  and,  I  am  afraid,  is  learning  a  great 
many  things  that  he  would  be  better  without.' 
"  WTiich  is  true  of  more  than  him,"  growled  Jack. 
*0f  course,  he  does  not  like  Rosenblatt.     A  little 


196  THE   FOREIGNER 

while  ago  there  was  a  dance  and,  as  always  at  the 
dances,  that  awful  beer!  The  men  got  drunk  and 
a  good  deal  of  fighting  took  place.  Rosenblatt  and 
a  friend  of  his  got  abusing  the  girl.  The  boy  flew  at 
him  and  wounded  him  with  a  knife,'  "  And  served  him 
jolly  well  right,"  said  Jack  with  an  oath.  '  and  then 
Rosenblatt  nearly  killed  him  and  threw  him  out  in 
the  snow.  There  he  would  have  certainly  died,  had 
not  Dr.  Wright  happened  along  and  carried  him  to 
the  hospital,  where  he  has  been  ever  since.  The  doc- 
tor had  Rosenblatt  up  before  the  Court,  but  he 
brought  a  dozen  men  to  swear  that  the  boy  was  a 
bad  and  dangerous  boy  and  that  he  was  only  defend- 
ing himself.  Fancy  a  great  big  man  against  a  boy 
thirteen!  Well,  would  you  believe  it,  Rosenblatt 
escaped  and  laid  a  charge  against  the  boy,  and  would 
actually  have  had  him  sent  to  jail,  but  I  went  to  the 
magistrate  and  ofl'ered  to  take  him  and  find  a  home 
for  him  outside  of  the  city.'  "  Good  brave  little 
lady !     I  know  you  well,"  cried  Jack. 

'  I  thought  of  you.  Jack,'  "  Bless  your  kind  little 
heart,"  said  Jack.  '  and  I  knew  that  if  you  could 
get  him  you  would  make  a  man  of  him.'  "  Aha !  You 
did !  "  exclaimed  Jack.  '  Here  he  is  getting  worse 
and  worse  every  day.  He  is  so  quick  and  so  clever, 
he  has  never  been  to  school,  but  he  reads  and  speaks 
English  well.  He  is  very  popular  with  his  own 
people,  for  he  is  a  wonderful  singer,  and  they  like 
him  at  their  feasts.  And  I  have  heard  that  he  is  as 
fond  of  beer  as  any  of  them.  He  was  terribly  bat- 
tered, but  he  is  all  right  again,  and  has  been  living 
with  his  sister  and  his  step-mother  in  the  house  of  a 
friend  of  his  father's.     But  I  have  promised  to  get 


JACK  FRENCH  197 

him  out  of  the  city,  and  if  I  do  not,  I  know  Rosen- 
blatt will  be  after  him.  Besides  this,  I  am  afraid 
something  will  happen  if  he  remains.  The  boy  says 
quite  quietly,  but  you  can't  help  feeling  that  he 
means  it,  that  he  will  kill  Rosenblatt  some  day.  It 
is  terribly  sad,  for  he  is  such  a  nice  boy.'  "  Seems  con- 
siderable of  an  angel,"  agreed  Jack.  '  I  am  afraid 
you  will  have  to  teach  him  a  good  many  things,  Jack, 
for  he  has  some  bad  habits.  But  if  he  is  with  you 
and  away  from  the  bad  people  he  meets  with  here,  I 
am  sure  he  will  soon  forget  the  bad  things  he  has 
learned.'  "  Dear  lady,  God  grant  you  may  never 
know,"  said  Jack  ruefully. 

'  Tliis  is  a  long  letter,  dear  Jack.  How  I  should 
like  to  go  up  to  Night  Hawk  Ranch  and  see  you,  for 
I  know  you  will  not  come  to  Winnipeg,  and  we  do  not 
see  enough  of  each  other.  We  ought  to,  for  my  sake 
and  for  Herbert's  too.'  "  Ah  God !  and  what  of 
me?  "  groaned  Jack.  *  I  cannot  begin  to  thank  you 
for  all  your  kindness.  And,  Jack,  you  must  stop 
sending  me  money,  for  I  do  not  need  it  and  I  will 
not  use  it,  and  I  just  keep  putting  what  you  send 
me  in  the  bank  for  you.  The  Lord  has  given  me 
many  friends,  and  He  never  has  allowed  me  to  want. 

'  I  shall  wait  two  weeks,  and  then  send  you  Kal- 
man  —  that  is  his  name,  Kalman  Kalmar,  a  nice 
name,  is  n't  it?  And  he  is  a  dear  good  boy;  that  is, 
he  might  be.'  "  Good  heart,  so  might  we  all,"  cried 
Jack.  '  But  I  love  him  just  as  he  is.'  "  Happy 
boy."  *  Would  n't  it  be  fine  if  you  could  make  him 
a  good  man?  How  much  he  might  do  for  his  people! 
And  if  he  stays  here  he  will  get  to  be  terrible,  for 
his  father  was  terrible,  although,  poor  man,  it  waa 


198  THE   FOREIGNER 

hardly  his  fault.'    "  I  surely  believe  in  God's  mercy ,'^ 
said  poor  Jack. 

'  This  is  a  long  rambling  letter,  dear  Jack,  but  you 
will  forgive  me.  I  sometimes  get  pretty  tired.'  And 
Jack's  brown  lean  hand  closed  swiftly.  '  There  is  so 
\  much  to  do.  But  I  am  pretty  well  and  I  have  many 
'  kind  friends.  So  much  to  do,  so  many  sick  and  poor 
and  lonely.  They  need  a  friend.  The  Winnipeg 
people  are  very  kind,  but  they  are  very  busy. 

'  Now,  my  dear  Jack,  will  you  do  for  Kalman  all 
you  can?  And  —  may  I  say  it.^^  —  remember,  he  is 
just  a  boy.  I  do  not  want  to  preach  to  you,  but  he 
needs  to  be  under  the  care  of  a  good  man,  and  that 
is  why  I  send  him  to  you. 

'  Your  loving  sister, 

'  Margaret.' 

There  was  a  grim  look  on  Jack  French's  face  as  he 
finished  reading  the  letter  the  second  time. 

"  You  're  a  good  one,"  he  said,  "  and  you  have 
a  wise  little  head  as  well  as  a  tender  heart.  Don't 
want  to  preach  to  me,  eh?  But  you  get  your  work 
in  all  the  same.  Two  weeks !  Let 's  see,  this  letter 
has  been  four  weeks  on  the  way  —  up  to  Edmonton 
and  back!  By  Jove!  That  boy  ought  to  be  along 
with  Macmillan's  outfit.  I  say,  Jimmy,"  this  to 
Jimmy  Green,  who,  besides  representing  Her  Majesty 
in  the  office  of  Postmaster,  was  general  store  keeper 
and  trader  to  the  community,  "  when  will  Macmillas 
he  in?" 

"  Couple  of  days,  Jack." 


JACK   FRENCH  199 

*'  Well,  I  guess  I  '11  have  to  wait." 

And  this  turned  out  an  unhappy  necessity  for 
Jack  French,  for  when  the  Macmillan  outfit  drove  up 
to  the  Crossing  he  was  lying  incapable  and  dead  to 
all  around,  in  Jimmy  Green's  back  store. 


£00  THE   FOREIGNEa 


CHAPTER    XI 

THE    EDMONTON    TRAIIi 

STRAIGHT  across  the  country,  winding  over 
plains,  around  sleughs,  threading  its  way 
through  bluffs,  over  prairie  undulations,  fording 
streams  and  crossing  rivers,  and  so  making  its  course 
northwest  from  Winnipeg  for  nine  hundred  miles, 
runs  the  Edmonton  trail. 

Macmillan  was  the  last  of  that  far-famed  and  ad- 
venturous body  of  men  who  were  known  all  through 
the  western  country  for  their  skill,  their  courage, 
their  endurance  in  their  profession  of  freighters  from 
Winnipeg  to  the  far  outpost  of  Edmonton  and  be- 
yond into  the  Peace  River  and  Mackenzie  River  dis- 
tricts. The  building  of  railroads  cut  largely  into 
their  work,  and  gradually  the  freighters  faded  from 
the  trails.  Old  Sam  Macmillan  was  among  the  last 
of  his  tribe  left  upon  the  Edmonton  trail.  He  was 
a  master  in  his  profession.  In  the  packing  of  his 
goods  with  their  almost  infinite  variety,  in  the  mak- 
ing up  of  his  load,  he  was  possessed  of  marvellous 
skill,  while  on  the  trail  itself  he  was  easily  king  of 
them  all. 

Macmillan  was  a  big  silent  Irishman,  raw  boned* 


THE   EDMONTON   TRAIL  201 

hardy,  and  with  a  highly  developed  genius  for  hand- 
ling ox  or  horse  teams  of  any  size  in  a  difficult  bit  of 
road,  and  possessing  as  well  a  unique  command  of 
picturesque  and  varied  profanity.  These  gifts  he 
considered  as  necessarily  related,  and  the  exercise  of 
each  was  always  in  conjunction  with  the  other,  for 
no  man  ever  heard  Macmillan  swear  in  ordinary  con- 
Ycrsation  or  on  commonplace  occasions.  But  when 
his  team  became  involved  in  a  sleugh,  it  was  always 
a  point  of  doubt  whether  he  aroused  more  respect 
and  admiration  in  his  attendants  by  his  rare  ability 
to  get  the  last  ounce  of  hauling  power  out  of  his 
team  or  by  the  artistic  vividness  and  force  of  the 
profanity  expended  in  producing  this  desired  result. 
It  is  related  that  on  an  occasion  when  he  had  as  part 
of  his  load  the  worldly  effects  of  an  Anglican  Bishop 
en  route  to  his  heroic  mission  to  the  far  North,  the 
good  Bishop,  much  grieved  at  Macmillan's  profan- 
ity, urged  upon  him  the  unnecessary  character  of 
this  particular  form  of  encouragement. 

"  Is  it  swearing  Your  Riverence  objects  to?  "  said 
Macmillan,  whose  vocabulary  still  retained  a  slight 
flavour  of  the  Old  Land.  "  I  do  assure  you  that  they 
won't  pull  a  pound  without  it." 

But  the  Bishop  could  not  be  persuaded  of  this, 
and  urged  upon  INIacmillan  the  necessity  of  eliminat" 
ing  this  part  of  his  persuasion. 

"  Just  as  you  say,  Your  Riverence.  I  ain't  hur= 
ried  this  tnp  and  we  '11  do  our  best." 


202  THE   FOREIGNER 

The  next  bad  sleugh  brought  opportunity  to  make 
experiment  of  the  new  system.  The  team  stuck  fast 
in  the  black  muck,  and  every  effort  to  extricate  them 
served  only  to  imbed  them  more  hopelessly  iii  the 
sticky  gumbo.  Time  passed  on.  A  dark  and  lower- 
ing night  was  imminent.  The  Bishop  grew  anxious. 
Macmillan,  with  whip  and  voice,  encouraged  his  team, 
but  all  in  vain.  The  Bishop's  anxiety  increased  with 
the  approach  of  a  threatening  storm. 

"  It  if  growing  late,  Mr.  Macmillan,  and  it  looks 
like  rain.     Something  must  be  done." 

"  It  does  that.  Your  Lordship,  but  the  brutes 
won't  pull  half  their  own  weight  without  I  speak  to 
them  in  the  way  they  are  used  to." 

The  good  man  was  in  a  sore  strait.  Another  half 
hour  passed,  and  still  with  no  result.  It  was  impera- 
tive that  his  goods  should  be  brought  under  cover 
before  the  storm  should  break.  Again  the  good 
Bishop  urged  Macmillan  to  more  strenuous  effort. 

*'  We  can't  stay  here  all  night,  sir,"  he  said. 
"  Surely  something  can  be  done." 

"  Well,  I  '11  tell  Your  Lordship,  it 's  one  of  two 
things,  stick  or  swear,  and  there 's  nothing  else 
for  it." 

"  Well,  well,  ]\Ir.  Macmillan,"  said  the  Bishop  re- 
signedly, "  we  must  get  on.  Do  as  you  think  best, 
but  I  take  no  responsibility  in  the  matter."  At  which 
Pilate's  counsel  he  retired  from  the  scene,  leaving 
Macmillan  an  untrammelled  course. 


THE   EDMONTON   TRAIL  20? 

Macmillan  seized  the  reins  from  the  ground,  and 
walking  up  and  down  the  length  of  his  six-horse  teamj 
began  to  address  them  singly  and  in  the  mass  in 
terms  so  sulphurously  descriptive  of  their  ancestry, 
their  habits,  and  their  physical  and  psychological 
characteristics,  that  when  he  gave  the  word  in  a 
mighty  culminating  roar  of  blasphemous  excitation, 
each  of  the  bemired  beasts  seemed  to  be  inspired  with 
a  special  demon,  and  so  exerted  itself  to  the  utmost 
limit  of  its  powers  that  in  a  single  minute  the  load 
stood  high  and  dry  on  solid  ground. 

One  other  characteristic  made  Macmillan  one  of 
the  most  trusted  of  the  freighters  upon  the  trail. 
While  in  charge  of  his  caravan  he  was  an  absolute 
teetotaler,  making  up,  however,  for  this  abstinence  at 
the  end  of  the  trip  by  a  spree  whose  duration  was 
limited  only  by  the  extent  of  his  credit. 

It  was  to  Mr.  Macmillan's  care  that  Mrs.  French 
had  committed  Kalman  with  many  and  anxious  in- 
junctions, and  it  is  Macmillan's  due  to  say  that 
every  moment  of  that  four  weeks'  journey  was  one 
of  undiluted  delight  to  the  boy,  although  it  is  to 
be  feared  that  not  the  least  enjoyable  moments  in 
that  eventful  journey  were  those  when  he  stood  lost 
in  admiration  wliile  his  host,  with  the  free  use  of 
his  sulphurously^  psychological  lever,  pried  his  team 
out  of  the  frequent  sleughs  that  harassed  the  trail. 
And  before  Macmillan  had  delivered  up  his  charge, 
ills  pork  and  hard  tack,  aided  by  the  ardent  suns 


204  THE   FOREIGNER 

and  sweeping  winds  of  the  prairie,  had  dene  their 
work,  so  that  it  was  a  brown  and  thoroughly  hardy 
looking  lad  that  was  handed  over  to  Jimmy  Green 
at  the  Crossing. 

"  Here  is  Jack  French's  boy,"  said  Macmillan. 
"  And  it 's  him  that 's  got  the  ear  for  music.  In 
another  trip  he  '11  dust  them  horses  out  of  a  hole 
with  any  of  us.  Swear!  Well,  I  should  smile!  By 
the  powers !    he  makes  me  feel  queer." 

"  Swear,"  echoed  a  thick  voice  from  behind  the 
speaker,  "  who  's  swearing.?  " 

"  Hello  !  Jack,"  said  Macmillan  quietly.  "  Got  a 
jag  on,  eh?  " 

"  Attend  to  your  own  business,  sir,"  said  Jack 
French,  whose  dignity  grew  and  whose  temper 
shortened  with  every  bottle.  "  Answer  my  question, 
sir.     Wlio  is  swearing .?  " 

"  Oh,  there  's  nothing  to  it.  Jack,"  said  Macmillan. 
"  I  was  telling  Jimmy  here  that  that 's  a  mighty  smart 
boy  of  yours,  and  with  a  great  tongue  for  language." 

"  I  '11  break  his  back,"  growled  Jack  French,  his 
face  distorted  with  a  scowl.  "  Look  here,  boy,"  he 
continued,  whirling  fiercely  upon  the  lad,  "  you  are 
sent  to  me  by  the  best  woman  on  earth  to  make  a 
man  of  you,  and  I  'II  have  no  swearing  on  my  ranch," 
delivering  himself  of  which  sentiment  punctuated  by 
a  feu  de  joie  of  muddled  oaths,  he  lurched  away  into 
the  back  shop  and  fell  into  a  drunken  sleep,  leaving 
the  boy  astonished  and  for  some  minutes  speechless. 


THE   EDMONTON   TRAIL  205 

"Is  that  her  brother?  "  he  asked  at  length,  when 
he  had  found  voice. 

"  Whose  brother?  "  said  Jimmy  Green. 

"  Yes,  boy,  that 's  her  brother,"  said  Macmillan. 
*'  But  that  Is  not  himself  any  more  than  a  mad  dog. 
Jimmy  here  has  been  filling  him  up,"  shaking  his 
finger  at  the  culprit,  "  which  he  had  no  right  to  do, 
knowing  Jack  French  as  he  does,  by  the  same  token." 

"  Oh,  come  on,  Mac,"  said  Jimmy  apologetically. 
*'  You  know  Jack  French,  and  when  he  gets  a-goin' 
could  I  stop  him?     No,  nor  you." 

Next  morning  when  Kahnan  came  forth  from  the 
loft  which  served  Jimmy  Green  as  store  room  for 
his  marvellously  varied  merchandise,  he  found  that 
Macmillan  had  long  since  taken  the  trail  and  was 
by  this  time  miles  on  his  journey  toward  Edmonton. 
The  boy  was  lonely  and  sick  at  heart.  JMacmlUan 
had  been  a  friend  to  him,  and  had  constituted  the 
last  link  that  held  him  to  the  life  he  had  left  behind 
in  the  city.  It  was  to  Macmillan  that  the  little 
white-faced  lady  who  was  to  the  boy  the  symbol  of 
all  that  was  high  and  holy  in  character,  had  en- 
trusted him  for  safe  deliverance  to  her  brother  Jack 
French.  Kalman  had  spent  an  unhappy  night,  liis 
sleep  being  broken  by  the  recurring  vision  of  the 
fierce  and  bloated  face  of  the  man  who  had  cursed 
him  and  threatened  him  on  the  previous  evening. 
The  boy  had  not  yet  recovered  from  the  horror  and 
surprise    of   his    discovery    that    this    drunken    and 


206  THE   FOREIGNER 

brutalized  creature  was  the  noble-hearted  brother 
into  whose  keeping  his  friend  and  benefactress  had 
given  him.  That  a  man  should  drink  himself  drunlc 
was  nothing  to  his  discredit  in  Kalman's  eyes,  but 
that  Mrs.  French's  brother,  the  loved  and  honoured 
gentleman  whom  she  had  taught  him  to  regard  as 
the  ideal  of  all  manly  excellence,  should  turn  out  to 
be  this  bloated  and  foul-mouthed  bully,  shocked  him 
inexpressibly.  From  these  depressing  thoughts  he 
was  aroused  by  a  cheery  voice, 

*'  Hello !    my  boy,  had  breakfast  ?  " 

He  turned  quickly  and  beheld  a  tall,  strongly  made 
and  handsome  man  of  middle  age,  clean  shaven, 
neatly  groomed,  and  with  a  fine  open  cheery  face. 

"  No,  sir,"  he  stammered,  with  unusual  politeness 
in  his  tone,  and  staring  with  all  his  eyes. 

It  was  Jack  French  who  addressed  him,  but  this 
handsome,  kindly,  well  groomed  man  was  so  different 
from  the  man  who  had  reeled  over  him  and  poured 
forth  upon  him  his  abusive  profanity  the  night  be- 
fore, that  his  mind  refused  to  associate  the  one  with 
the  other. 

"  Well,  boy,"  said  Jack  French,  "  you  must  be 
hungry.     Jimmy,  anything  left  for  the  boy?  " 

"  Lots,  Jack,"  said  Jimmy  eagerly,  as  if  relieved 
to  see  him  clothed  again  and  in  his  right  mind. 
**  The  very  best.  Here,  boy,  set  in  here."  He  opened 
a  door  which  led  into  a  side  room  where  the  remains 
of  breakfast  were  discloseS  upon  the  table.     "  Bacon 


THE   EDMONTON   TRAIL  207 

and  eggs,  my  boy,  eggs !  mind  you,  and  Hudson's 
Bay  biscuit  and  black  strap.     How  's  that?  " 

The  boy,  still  lost  in  wonder,  fell  to  with  a  great 
access  of  good  cheer,  and  made  a  hearty  meal,  while 
outside  he  could  hear  Jack  French's  clear,  cheery, 
commanding  voice  directing  the  packing  of  his 
buckboard. 

The  packing  of  the  buckboard  was  a  business  call- 
ing for  some  skill.  In  the  box  seat  were  stowed  away 
groceries  and  small  parcels  for  the  ranch  and  for  set- 
tlers along  the  trail.  Upon  the  boards  behind  the 
seat  were  loaded  and  roped  securely,  sides  of  pork, 
a  sack  of  flour,  and  various  articles  for  domestic 
use.  Last  of  all,  and  with  great  care,  French  dis- 
posed a  mysterious  case  packed  with  straw,  the  con- 
tents of  which  were  perfectly  well  known  to  the  boy. 

The  buckboard  packed,  there  followed  the  process 
of  hitching  up,  —  a  process  at  once  spectacular  and 
full  of  exciting  incident,  for  the  trip  to  the  Crossing 
was  to  the  bronchos,  unbroken  even  to  the  halter, 
their  first  experience  in  the  ways  of  civilized  man. 
Wild,  timid  and  fiercely  vicious,  they  were  brought 
in  from  their  night  pickets  on  a  rope,  holding  back 
hard,  plunging,  snorting,  in  terror,  and  were  tied  up 
securely  in  an  out  shed.  There  was  no  time  spent  in 
gentle  persuasion.  French  took  a  collar  and  without 
hesitation,  but  without  haste,  walked  quietly  to  the 
side  of  one  of  the  shuddering  ponies,  a  buckskin,  and 
paying  no  heed  to  its  frantic  plunging,  slipped  it 


208  THE   FOREIGNER 

over  his  neck,  keeping  close  to  the  pony's  side  anS 
crowding  it  hard  against  the  wall.  The  rest  of  the 
harness  offered  more  difficulty.  The  pony  went  wild 
at  every  approach  of  the  trailing  straps  and  buckles. 
Kalman  looked  on  in  admiration  while  French,  with- 
out loss  of  temper,  without  oath  or  objurgation,  went 
on  quietly  with  his  work. 

"  Have  to  put  a  hitch  on  him,  Jimmy,  I  guess," 
said  French  after  he  had  failed  in  repeated  attempts. 

Jimmy  took  a  thin  strong  line  of  rope,  put  a  run- 
ning noose  around  the  pony's  jaw,  threw  the  end 
over  its  neck  and  back  through  the  noose  again,  thus 
making  a  most  cruel  bridle,  and  gave  the  rope  a 
single  sharp  jerk.  The  broncho  fell  back  upon  its 
haunches,  and  before  it  had  recovered  from  its  pain 
and  surprise,  French  had  the  harness  on  its  back  and 
buckled  into  place. 

The  second  pony,  a  piebald  or  pinto,  needed  no 
"  Commache  hitch,"  but  submitted  to  the  harnessing 
process  without  any  great  protest. 

"  Bring  him  along,  Jimmy,"  said  French,  leading 
out  the  pinto. 

But  this  was  easier  said  than  done,  for  the  buck-, 
skin  after  being  faced  toward  the  door,  set  his  feet 
firmly  in  front  of  him  and  refused  to  budge  an  inch. 

"  Touch  him  up  behind,  boy,"  said  Green  to  Kal- 
man, who  stood  by  eager  to  assist. 

Kalman  sprang  forward  with  a  stick  in  his  hand, 
dodged  under  the  poles  which  formed  the  sides  ol 


THE   EDMONTON   TRAIL  209 

the  stall,  and  laid  a  resounding  whack  upon  the 
pony's  flank.  There  was  a  flash  of  heels,  a  bang  on 
the  shed  wall,  a  plunge  forAvard,  and  the  pony  was 
found  clear  of  the  shed  and  Kalman  senseless  on  the 
ground. 

"  Jimmy,  you  eternal  fool !  "  cried  French,  "  hold 
this  rope !  "  He  ran  to  the  boy  and  picked  him  up 
m  his  arms.  "  The  boy  is  killed,  and  there  '11  be  the 
very  deuce  to  pay." 

He  laid  the  insensible  lad  on  the  grass,  ran  for  a 
pail  of  water  and  dashed  a  portion  of  it  in  his  face. 
In  a  few  moments  the  boy  opened  his  eyes  with  a  long 
deep  sigh,  and  closed  them  again  as  if  in  contented 
slumber.  French  took  a  flask  from  his  pocket, 
opened  the  boy's  mouth,  and  poured  some  of  its  con- 
tents between  his  lips.  At  once  Kalman  began  to 
cough,  sat  up,  gazed  around  in  a  stupid  manner  upon 
the  ponies  and  the  men. 

"  He  's  out,"  he  said  at  length,  with  his  eyes  upon 
the  pinto. 

"  Out.?    Who  's  out.?  "  cried  French. 

"  Judas  priest !  "  exclaimed  Jimmy,  using  his  fa- 
vourite oath.      "  He  means  the  broncho." 

"  By  Jove !  he  is  out,  boy,"  said  French,  "  and  you 
are  as  near  out  as  you  are  likely  to  be  for  some  time 
to  come.  What  in  great  Caesar's  name  were  you  try- 
ing to  do  ?  " 

"  He  would  n't  move,"  said  the  boy  simply,  "  and 
I  hit  him." 


210  THE   FOREIGNER 

"  Listen  here,  boy,"  said  Jimmy  Green  solemnly, 
**  when  you  go  to  hit  a  broncho  again,  don't  take  any- 
thing short  of  a  ten-foot  pole,  unless  you  're  on  top 
of  him." 

The  boy  said  nothing  in  reply,  but  got  up  and 
began  to  walk  about,  still  pale  and  dazed. 

"  Good  stuff,  eh,  Jimmy  .^^  "  said  French,  watching 
him  carefully. 

*'  You  bet !  "  said  Jimmy,  "  genuine  clay." 

"  It  is  exceptionally  lucky  that  you  were  standing 
so  near  the  little  beast,"  said  French  to  the  boy. 
*'  Get  into  the  buckboard  here,  and  sit  down." 

Kalman  climbed  in,  and  from  that  point  of  van- 
tage watched  the  rest  of  the  hitcliing  process.  By 
skillful  manoeuvring  the  two  men  led,  backed,  shoved 
the  ponies  into  position,  and  while  one  held  them  by 
the  heads,  the  other  hitched  the  traces.  Carefully 
French  looked  over  all  straps  and  buckles,  drew  the 
lines  free,  and  then  mounting  the  buckboard  seat, 
said  quietly,  "  Stand  clear,  Jimmy.  Let  them  go." 
Which  Jimmy  promptly  did. 

For  a  few  moments  they  stood  surprised  at  their 
unexpected  freedom,  and  uncertain  what  to  do  with 
it,  then  they  moved  off  slowly  a  few  steps  till  the  push 
of  the  buckboard  threw  them  into  a  sudden  terror, 
and  the  fight  was  on.  Plunging,  backing,  kicking, 
jibing,  they  finally  bolted,  fortunately  choosing  the 
trail  that  led  in  the  right  direction. 

"  Good-by,    Jimmy.      See    you    later,"    sang    out 


THE   EDMONTON   TRAIL  211 

French  as,  with  cool  head  and  steady  hand,  he  di- 
rected the  running  ponies. 

"  Jumpin'  cats !  "  repHed  Jimmy  soberly,  "  don't 
look  as  if  you  would,"  as  the  bronchos  tore  up  the 
river  bank  at  a  terrific  gallop. 

Before  they  reached  the  top  French  had  them  in 
hand,  and  going  more  smoothly,  though  still  run- 
ning at  top  speed.  Kalman  sat  clinging  to  the  rock- 
ing, pitching  buckboard,  his  eyes  alight  and  his  face 
aglow  with  excitement.  There  was  stirring  in  the 
boy's  brain  a  dim  and  far-away  memory  of  wild 
rides  over  the  steppes  of  Southern  Russia,  and 
French,  glancing  now  and  then  at  his  glowing  face, 
nodded  grim  approval. 

"Afraid,  boy.''"  he  shouted  over  the  roar  and 
rattle  of  the  pitching  buckboard. 

Kalman  looked  up  and  smiled,  and  then  with  a 
great  oath  he  cried,  "  Let  them  go !  " 

Jack  French  was  startled.  He  hauled  up  the 
ponies  sharply  and  turned  to  the  boy  at  his  side. 

"  Boy,  where  did  you  learn  that?  " 

"What?"  asked  the  boy  in  surprise. 

"  Where  did  you  learn  to  swear  like  that  ?  " 

"  Why,"  said  Kalman,  "  they  aU  do  it." 

"Who  all?" 

"  Why,  everybody  in  Winnipeg." 

"Docs  Mrs.  French?"  said  Jack  quietly. 

The  boy's  face  flushed  hotly. 

*'  No,  no,"  he  said  vehemently,  "  never  her."   Theo 


212  THE   FOREIGNER 

after  a  pause  and  an  evident  struggle,  "  She  wants 
me  to  stop,  but  all  the  men  and  the  boys  do  it." 

"  Kalman,"  said  French  solemnly,  "  no  one  swears 
on  my  ranch." 

Kalman  was  perplexed,  remembering  the  scene  of 
the  previous  night. 

"  But  you  —  "  he  began,  and  then  paused. 

"  Boy,"  repeated  French  with  added  solemnity, 
"  swearing  is  a  foolish  and  unnecessary  evil.  There 
is  no  swearing  on  my  ranch.  Promise  me  you  will 
give  up  this  habit." 

"  I  will  not,"  said  the  boy  promptly,  "  for  I  would 
break  my  word.     Don't  you  swear.?  " 

French  hesitated,  and  then  as  if  forming  a  sudden 
resolution  he  replied,  "  When  you  hear  me  swear  you 
can  begin.  And  if  you  don't  mean  to  quit,  don't 
promise.     A  gentleman  always  keeps  his  word." 

The  boy  looked  him  steadily  in  the  eye  and  then 
said,  as  if  pondering  this  remark,  "  I  remember.  I 
know.     My  father  said  so." 

French  forbore  to  press  the  matter  further,  but 
for  both  man  and  boy  an  attempt  at  a  new  habit 
of  speech  began  that  day. 

Once  clear  of  the  Saskatchewan  River,  the  trail 
led  over  rolling  prairie,  set  out  with  numerous 
*'  bluffs  "  of  western  maple  and  poplar,  and  diversi- 
fied with  sleughs  and  lakes  of  varying  size,  a  country 
as  richly  fertile  and  as  fair  to  leolc  upon  as  is  given 
the  eyes  of  man  to  behold  anywhere  in  God's  good 


THE   EDMONTON   TRAIL  SIS 

world.  In  the  dullest  weather  this  rolling,  tree- 
decked,  slcugh-geramed  prairie  presents  a  succession 
of  scenes  surpassingly  beautiful,  but  with  a  westering 
sun  upon  it,  and  on  a  May  day,  it  offers  such  a  pic- 
ture as  at  once  entrances  the  soul  and  lives  forever 
in  the  memory.  The  waving  lines,  the  rounded  hills, 
the  changing  colour,  the  chasing  shadows  on  grass 
and  bluff  and  sliimmering  water,  all  combine  to  make 
in  the  soul  high  music  unto  God. 

For  an  hour  and  more  the  buckboard  hummed 
along  the  trail  smooth  and  winding,  the  bronchos 
pulling  hard  on  the  lines  without  a  sign  of  weariness, 
till  the  bluffs  began  to  grow  thicker  and  ^gradually 
to  close  into  a  solid  belt  of  timber.  Beyond  this  belt 
of  timber  lay  the  Ruthenian  Colony  but  newly  placed. 
The  first  intimation  of  the  proxhnity  of  this  colony 
came  in  quite  an  unexpected  way.  Swinging  down  a 
sharp  hill  through  a  bluff,  the  bronchos  came  upon 
a  man  with  a  yoke  of  oxen  hauling  a  load  of  hay. 
Before  their  course  could  be  checked  the  ponies  had 
pitched  heavily  into  the  slow  moving  and  terrified 
oxen,  and  so  disconcerted  them  that  they  swerved 
from  the  trail  and  upset  the  load.  Immediately  there 
rose  a  volley  of  shrill  execrations  in  the  Galician 
tongue. 

*'  Whoa,  buck !  Steady  there  !  "  cried  Jack  French 
cheerily  as  he  steered  his  team  past  the  wreck.  "  Too 
bad  that,  we  must  go  back  and  help  to  repair 
idamages." 


214  THE   FOREIGNER 

He  tied  the  bronchos  securely  to  a  tree  and  went 
back  to  offer  aid.  The  Galician,  a  heavily-built  man, 
was  standing  on  the  trail  with  a  stout  stake  in  his 
hand,  viewing  the  ruins  of  his  load  and  expressing 
his  emotions  in  voluble  Gahcian  profanity  with  a  bad 
mixture  of  halting  and  broken  English.  Kalman 
'  stood  beside  French  with  wrath  growing  in  his  face. 

"  He  is  calling  you  very  bad  names ! ""  he  burst  out 
at  length. 

French  glanced  down  at  the  boy's  angry  face  and 
smiled. 

"  Oh,  well,  it  will  do  him  good.  He  will  feel  better 
when  he  gets  it  all  out.  And  besides,  he  has  rather 
good  reason  to  be  angry." 

"  He  says  he  is  going  to  kill  you,"  said  Kalman  in 
a  low  voice,  keeping  close  to  French's  side. 

"  Oh !  indeed,"  said  French  cheerfully,  walking 
straight  upon  the  man.  "  That  is  awkward.  But 
perhaps  he  will  change  his  mind." 

This  calm  and  cheerful  front  produced  its  impres- 
sion upon  the  excited  Galician. 

"  Too  bad,  neighbour,"  said  French  in  a  loud, 
cheerful  tone  as  he  drew  near. 

The  Galician,  who  had  recovered  something  of  his 
fury,  damped  to  a  certain  extent  by  French's  calm 
and  cheerful  demeanour,  began  to  gesticulate  with 
his  stake.  French  turned  his  back  upon  him  and  pro- 
ceeded to  ascertain  the  extent  of  the  wreck,  and  to 
advise  a  plan  for  its  repair.     As  he  stooped  to  ex- 


THE   EDMONTON   TRAIL  215 

amine  the  wagon  for  breakages,  the  wrathful  GaK- 
cian  suddenly  swung  his  club  in  the  air,  but  before 
the  blow  fell,  Kalman  shrieked  out  in  the  Galician 
tongue,  "  You  villain !     Stop  !  " 

This  unexpected  cry  in  his  own  speech  served  at  ^ 
once  to  disconcert  the  GaHcian's  aim,  and  to  warn 
his  intended  victim.  French,  springing  quickly 
aside,  avoided  the  blow  and  with  one  stride  he  was 
upon  the  Galician,  wrenched  the  stake  from  his  grasp, 
and,  taking  him  by  the  back  of  the  neck,  faced  him 
toward  the  front  wheels  of  the  wagon,  saying,  as 
he  did  so,  "  Here,  you  idiot !   take  hold  and  pull." 

The  strength  of  that  grip  on  his  neck  produced  a 
salutary  effect  upon  the  excited  Galician.  He  stood 
a  few  moments  dazed,  looking  this  way  and  that  way, 
r.s  if  uncertain  how  to  act. 

"  Tell  the  fool,"  said  French  to  Kalman  quietly, 
^^  to  get  hold  of  those  front  wheels  and  puU." 

The  boy  stood  amazed. 

*'  Ai  't  you  going  to  lick  him.''  "  he  said. 

"  Haven't  time  just  now,"  said  French  cheerfully. 

**  But  he  might  have  killed  you." 

"  Would  have  if  you  had  n't  yelled.  7  '11  remember 
that  too,  my  boy.  But  he  did  n't,  and  he  won't  get 
another  chance.     Tell  him  to  take  hold  and  pull." 

Kalman  turned  to  the  subdued  and  uncertain  Gali- 
cian, and  poured  forth  a  volume  of  angry  abuse  while 
he  directed  him  as  to  his  present  duty.  Humbly 
enough  the  Galician  took  hold,  and  soon  the  wagoa 


«10  THE   FOREIGNER 

was  put  to  rights,  and  after  half  an  hour's  work,  was 
loaded  again  and  ready  for  its  further  journey. 

By  this  time  the  man  had  quite  recovered  his  tem- 
per and  stood  for  some  time  after  all  was  ready, 
silent  and  embarrassed.  Then  he  began  to  earnestly 
address  French,  with  eager  gesticulations. 

"  What  is  it?  "  said  French. 

"  He  says  he  is  very  sorry,  and  feels  very  bad 
here,"  said  Kalman,  pointing  to  his  heart,  "  and  he 
wants  to  do  something  for  you." 

"  Tell  him,"  said  French  cheerfully,  "  only  a  fool 
loses  his  temper,  and  only  a  cad  uses  a  club  or  a  knife 
when  he  fights." 

Kalman  looked  puzzled. 

"A  cat.?" 

"No,  a  cad.  Don't  you  know  what  a  cad  is? 
Well,  a  cad  is  —  hanged  if  I  know  how  to  put  it  — 
you  know  what  a  gentleman  is.?  " 

Kalman  nodded. 

"  Well,  the  other  thing  is  a  cad." 

The  Galician  listened  attentively  while  Kalman 
explained,  and  made  humble  and  deprecating  reply. 

"  He  says,"  interpreted  Kalman,  "  that  he  is  very 
sorry,  but  he  wants  to  know  what  you  fight  with. 
You  can't  hurt  a  man  with  your  hands." 

"  Can't,  eh?  "  said  French.  "  Tell  him  to  stand 
up  here  to  me." 

The  Galician  came  up  smiling,  and  French  pro- 
ceeded to  give  him  his  first  lesson  in  the  manly  art, 
Kalman  interpreting  his  directions. 


THE   EDMONTON   TRAIL  217 

"  Put  up  your  hands  so.  Now  I  am  going  to  tap 
your  forehead." 

Tap,  tap,  went  French's  open  knuckles  upon  the 
Galician's  forehead. 

"  Look  out,  man." 

Tap,  tap,  tap,  the  knuckles  went  rapping  on  the 
man's  forehead,  despite  his  flying  arms. 

"  Now,"  said  French,  "  hit  me." 

The  Galician  made  a  feeble  attempt. 

"  Oh,  don't  be  afraid.     Hit  me  hard." 

The  Galician  lunged  forward,  but  met  rigid  arms. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  French,  reaching  him  sharply 
on  the  cheek  with  his  open  hand,  "  try  better  than 
that." 

Again  the  Galician  struck  heavily  with  his  huge 
fists,  and  again  French,  easily  parrying,  tapped  him 
once,  twice,  thrice,  where  he  would,  drawing  tears  to 
the  man's  eyes.  The  Galician  paused  with  a  scornful 
exclamation. 

"  He  says  that 's  nothing,"  interpreted  Kalman. 
"  You  can't  hurt  a  man  that  way." 

"  Can't,  eh?  Tell  liim  to  come  on,  but  to  look 
out." 

Again  the  Galician  came  forward,  evidently  deter- 
mined to  land  one  blow  at  least.  But  French,  taking 
the  blow  on  his  guard,  replied  with  a  heavy  left- 
hander fair  on  the  Galician's  chest,  lifted  him  clear 
off  his  feet  and  hurled  him  breathless  against  his 
load  of  hay.     The  man  recovered  himself,  grinning 


218  THE    FOREIGNER 

sheepishl}',  nodding  liis  head  vigorously  and  talking 
rapidly. 

"  That  is  enough.  He  says  he  would  like  to  learn 
how  to  do  that.  That  is  better  than  a  club,"  inter- 
preted Kalman. 

"  Tell  him  that  his  people  must  learn  to  figlit  with- 
out club  or  knife.  We  won't  stand  that  in  this  coun- 
try.    It  lands  them  in  prison  or  on  tlie  gallows." 

Kalman  translated,  his  own  face  fiery  red  mean- 
while, and  his  own  appearance  one  of  luimlHation. 
He  was  wondering  how  much  of  his  own  history  thit 
man  knew. 

"  Good-b^s"  said  Frencli,  holding  out  his  hand 
to  the  Galician. 

The  man  took  it  and  raised  it  to  his  lips. 

"  He  says  he  thanks  you  very  much,  and  he  wishes 
you  to  forget  his  badness." 

"  All  right,  old  man,"  said  French  cheerfully. 
"  See  you  again  some  day." 

And  so  they  parted,  Kalman  carrying  with  him  an 
uncomfortable  sense  of  having  been  at  various  times 
in  his  life  something  of  a  cad,  and  a  fear  lest  this 
painful  fact  should  be  known  to  his  new  master  and 
friend. 

"  Well,  youngster,"  said  French,  noticing  his 
glum  face,  "  you  did  me  a  good  turn  that  time. 
TJiat  beggar  had  me  foul  then,  sure  enough,  and  I 
won't  forget  it." 

Kalman  brightened  up  under  his  w  ords,  and  with- 


THE   EDMONTON   TRAIL  219 

out  further  speech,  each  busy  with  himself,  they  sped 
along  the  trail  till  the  day  faded  toward  the  evening. 

But  the  Edmonton  trail  that  day  set  its  mark  on 
the  lives  of  boy  and  man,  —  a  mark  that  was  never 
obliterated.  To  Kalman  the  day  brought  a  new  image 
of  manhood.  Of  all  the  men  whom  he  knew  there  was 
none  who  could  command  his  loyalty  and  enthral 
his  imagination.  It  is  true,  his  father  had  been  such 
a  man,  but  now  his  father  moved  in  dim  shadow  across 
the  horizon  of  his  memory.  Here  was  a  man  within 
touch  of  his  hand  who  illustrated  in  himself  those 
qualities  that  to  a  boy's  heart  and  mind  combine  to 
make  a  hero.  With  what  ease  and  courage  and  pa- 
tience and  perfect  self-command  he  had  handled  those 
plunging  bronchos !  The  same  qualities  too,  in  a 
higher  degree,  had  marked  his  interview  with  the 
wrathful  and  murderous  Galician,  and,  in  addition, 
all  that  day  Kalman  had  been  conscious  of  a  consider- 
ation and  a  quickness  of  sympathy  in  his  moods  that 
revealed  in  this  man  of  rugged  strength  and  forceful 
courage  a  subtle  something  that  marks  the  finer  tem- 
per and  nobler  spirit,  the  temper  and  the  spirit  of 
the  gentleman.  Not  that  Kalman  could  name  this 
thing,  but  to  his  sensitive  soul  it  was  this  in  the  man 
that  made  appeal  and  that  called  forth  his  loyal 
homage. 

To  French,  too,  the  day  had  brought  thoughts  and 
emotions  that  had  not  stirred  within  him  since  those 
days  of  younger  manhood  twenty  years  ago  when  the 


220  THE   FOREIGNER 

world  was  still  a  place  of  dreams  and  life  a  tourney 
where  glory  might  be  won.  The  boy's  face,  still  with 
its  spiritual  remembrances  in  spite  of  all  the  sordid- 
ness  of  his  past,  the  utter  and  obvious  surrender  of 
soul  that  shone  from  his  eyes,  made  the  man  almost 
shudder  with  a  new  horror  of  the  foulness  that  twenty 
years  of  wild  license  upon  the  plains  had  flung  upon 
him.  A  fierce  hate  of  what  he  had  become,  an  ap- 
palling vision  of  what  he  was  expected  to  be,  grew 
upon  him  as  the  day  drew  to  a  close.  Gladly  would 
he  have  refused  the  awful  charge  of  this  young  soul 
as  yet  unruined  that  so  plainly  exalted  him  to  a  place 
among  the  gods,  but  for  a  vision  that  he  carried  ever 
in  his  heart  of  a  face  sad  and  sweet  and  eloquent  with 
trustful  love. 

"  No,  by  Jove !  "  he  said  to  himself  between  his 
shut  teeth,  "  I  can't  funk  it.     I  'd  be  a  cad  if  I  did." 

And  with  these  visions  and  these  resolvings  they, 
boy  and  man,  swung  off  from  the  Edmonton  trail 
black  and  well  worn,  and  into  the  half-beaten  track 
that  led  to  Wakota,  the  centre  of  the  Galician  colony. 


THE   MAKING   OF  A  MAN  221 


CHAPTER    XII 


THE    MAKING    OF    A    MAN 


WAKOTA,  consisting  of  the  mud-house  of  a 
Galician  homesteader  who  owned  a  forge 
and  did  blacksmithing  for  the  colony  in  a  primitive 
way,  they  left  behind  half  an  hour  before  nightfall, 
with  ten  miles  of  bad  going  still  before  them.  The 
trail  wound  through  bluffs  and  around  sleughs,  dived 
into  coulees  and  across  black  creeks,  and  only  the 
most  skilful  handling  could  have  piloted  the  bronchos 
through. 

It  was  long  after  dark  when  they  reached  the 
ravine  of  the  Night  Hawk  Creek,  through  which 
they  must  pass  before  arriving  at  the  Lake.  Down 
the  sides  of  this  ravine  they  zigzag!ged,  dodging 
trees  and  boulders  till  they  came  to  the  last  sharp 
pitch,  at  the  foot  of  which  ran  the  Creek.  During 
this  whole  descent  Kalman  sat  clinging  to  the  back 
and  side  of  the  seat,  expecting  every  moment  to 
have  the  buckboard  turn  turtle  over  him,  but  when 
they  reached  the  edge  oi  the  final  pitch,  were  it  not 
for  sheer  shame,  he  would  have  begged  permission 


222  THE   FOREIGNER 

to  scramble  down  on  hands  and  knees  rather  than 
trust  himself  to  the  swaying,  pitching  vehicle.  A 
moment  French  held  his  bronchos  steady,  poised  on 
the  brink  of  this  rocky  steep,  and  then  reaching 
back,  he  seized  the  hind  wheel  and,  holding  it  fast, 
used  it  as  a  drag,  while  the  bronchos  slid  down  on 
their  haunches  over  the  mass  of  gravel  and  rolling 
stones  till  they  reached  the  bed  of  the  Creek  in 
safety.  A  splash  through  the  water,  a  scramble  up 
the  other  bank,  a  long  climb,  and  they  were  out 
again  on  the  prairie.  A  mile  of  good  trail  and  they 
were  at  home,  welcomed  by  the  baying  of  two  huge 
Russian  wolf  hounds. 

Through  the  dim  light  Kalman  could  discover  the 
outlines  of  what  seemed  a  long  heap  of  logs,  but 
what  he  afterwards  discovered  to  be  a  series  of  low 
log  structures  which  did  for  house,  stable  and  sheds 
of  various  kinds. 

"  Down !  Bismark.  Down !  Blucher.  Hello  there, 
Mac!     Where  in  the  world  are  you.''  " 

After  some  time  Mackenzie  appeared  with  a  lan- 
tern, a  short,  grizzled,  thick-set  man,  rubbing  his 
eyes  and  yawning  prodigiously. 

"  I  nefer  thought  you  would  be  coming  home  to- 
night," he  said.     "What  brought  ye  at  this  time.?  " 

"  Never  mind,  Mac,"  said  French.  "  Get  the 
horses  out,  and  Kalman  and  I  will  unload  this 
stuff." 

In  what  seemed  to  be  an  outer  shed,  they  deposited 


THE   MAKING    OF  A   IVIAN  223 

the  pork,  flour,  and  other  articles  that  composed  the 
load.  As  Kalman  seized  the  straw-packed  case  to 
carry  it  in,  French  interfered. 

"  Here,  boy,  I  '11  take  that,"  he  said  quickly. 

"  I  '11  not  break  them,"  said  Kalman,  lifting  the 
case  with  great  care. 

"  You  won't,  eh  ?  "  replied  French  in  rather  a 
shamed  tone.     "  Do  you  know  what  it  is  ?  " 

"  Why,  sure,"  said  Kalman.  "  Lots  of  that  stuff 
used  to  come  into  our  home  in  Winnipeg." 

"  Well,  let  me  have  the  case,"  said  French.  "  And 
you  need  n't  say  anything  to  Mac  about  it.  Mac  is 
all  right,  but  a  case  of  liquor  in  the  house  makes 
him  unhappy." 

"Unhappy?     Doesn't  he  drink  any?" 

"  That 's  just  it,  my  boy.  He  is  unhappy  while 
it 's  outside  of  him.  He  's  got  Indian  blood  in  him, 
you  see,  and  he  'd  die  for  whiskey."  So  saying, 
French  took  up  the  case  and  carried  it  to  the  inner 
room  and  stowed  it  away  under  his  bed. 

But  as  he  rose  up  from  making  this  disposition 
of  the  dangerous  stuff  Mac  himself  appeared  in  the 
room. 

"  What  are  you  standing  there  looking  at  ?  "  said 
French  with  unusual  impatience. 

"  Oh,  nothing  at  all,"  said  Mackenzie,  whose  strong 
Highland  accent  went  strangely  with  his  soft  In- 
dian voice  and  his  dark  Indian  face.  "  It  iss  a  good 
place  for  it,  whatefer." 


224  THE   FOREIGNER 

French  stood  for  a  moment  in  disgusted  silence, 
and  then  breaking  into  a  laugh  he  said ;  "  All  right, 
Mac.  There  "s  no  use  trying  to  keep  it  from  you. 
But,  mind  you,  it 's  fair  play  in  this  tiling.  Last 
time,  you  remember,  you  got  into  trouble.  I  won't 
stand  that  sort  of  thins;  affain." 

"  Ch,  well,  well,"  said  Mackenzie  cheerfully,  "  it 
will  not  be  for  long  anyway,  more  's  the  peety." 

"  Now  then,  get  us  a  bite  of  supper,  Mackenzie," 
said  French  sharply,  "  and  let  us  to  bed." 

Some  wild  duck  and  some  bannock  with  black 
molasses,  together  with  strong  black  tea,  made  a 
palatable  supper  after  a  long  day  on  the  breezy 
prairie.     After  supper  the  m.en  sat  smoking. 

"The  oats  in,  Mac?" 

"  They  are  sowed,  but  not  harrowed  yet.  I  will 
be  doing  that  to-morrow  in  the  morning." 

"  Potato  ground  ready  ?  " 

"  Yes,  the  ground  is  ready,  and  the  seed  is  over 
at  Garneau's." 

"  What  in  thunder  were  you  waiting  for  ?  Those 
potatoes  should  have  been  in  ten  days  ago.  It 's 
hardly  worth  while  putting  them  in  now." 

"  Garneau  promised  to  bring  them  ofer,"  said 
Mackenzie,  "  but  you  cannot  tell  anything  at  all 
about  that  man." 

*'  Well,  we  must  get  them  in  at  once.  We  must 
not  lose  another  day.  And  now  let 's  get  to  bed. 
The  boy  here  will  sleep  in  the  bunk,"  pointing  to 


THE   MAKING   OF   A   MAN  225 

a  large-sized  box  which  did  for  a  couch.  "  Get  some 
blankets  for  him,  Mac." 

The  top  of  the  box  folded  back, revealing  a  bed  inside. 

"  There,  Kalman,"  said  French,  while  Mackenzie 
arranged  the  blankets,  "  will  that  do?  " 

"  Fine,"  said  the  boy,  who  could  hardly  keep  his 
eyes  open  and  who  in  five  minutes  after  he  had 
tumbled  in  was  sound  asleep. 

It  seemed  as  if  he  had  been  asleep  but  a  few  mo- 
ments when  he  was  wakened  by  a  rude  shock.  He 
started  up  to  find  Mackenzie  fallen  drunk  and  help- 
less across  his  bunk. 

"  Here,  you  pig !  "  French  was  saying  in  a  stern 
undertone,  "  can't  you  tell  when  you  have  had 
enough  ?     Come  out   of  that !  " 

With  an  oath  he  dragged  Mackenzie  to  his  feet. 

"  Come,  get  to  your  bed !  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes,"  grumbled  Mackenzie,  "  and  I  know 
well  what  you  will  be  doing  after  I  am  in  bed,  and 
never  a  drop  will  you  be  leaving  in  that  bottle." 
Mackenzie  was  on  the  verge  of  tears. 

"  Get  on,  you  beast !  "  said  French  in  tones  of  dis- 
gusted dignity,  pushing  the  man  before  him  into 
the  next  room. 

Kalman  was  wide  awake,  but,  feigning  sleep, 
watched  French  as  he  sat  with  gloomy  face,  drink- 
ing steadily  till  even  his  hard  head  could  stand  no 
more,  and  he  swayed  into  the  inner  room  and  fell 
heavily  on  the  bed.     Kalman  waited  till  French  was 

15 


226  THE   FOREIGNER 

fast  asleep,  then  rising  quietly,  pulled  off  his  boots, 
threw  a  blanket  over  him,  put  out  the  lamp  and  went 
back  to  the  bunk.  The  spectre  of  the  previous 
night  wliich  had  been  laid  by  the  events  of  the  day 
came  back  to  haunt  his  broken  slumber.  For  hours 
he  tossed,  and  not  till  morning  began  to  dawn  did 
he  quite  lose  consciousness. 

Broad  morning  wakened  him  to  unpleasant  memo- 
ries, and  more  unpleasant  reahties.  French  was  still 
sleeping  heavily.  Mackenzie  was  eating  breakfast, 
with  a  bottle  beside  him  on  the  table. 

"  You  will  find  a  basin  on  the  bench  outside," 
observed  Mackenzie,  pointing  to  the  open  door. 

When  Kalman  returned  from  his  ablutions,  the 
bottle  had  vanished,  and  Mackenzie,  with  breath 
redolent  of  its  contents,  had  ready  for  him  a  plate 
of  porridge,  to  which  he  added  black  molasses.  This, 
with  toasted  bannock,  the  remains  of  the  cold  duck 
of  the  night  before,  and  strong  black  tea,  consti- 
tuted his  breakfast. 

Kalman  hurried  through  his  meal,  for  he  hated 
to  meet  French  as  he  woke  from  his  sleep. 

"Will  he  not  take  breakfast?"  said  the  boy  as 
he  rose  from  the  table. 

"  No,  not  him,  nor  denner  either,  hke  as  not.  It 
iss  a  good  thing  he  has  a  man  to  look  after  the 
place,"  said  Mackenzie  with  the  pride  of  conscious 
fidehty.  "We  will  just  be  going  on  with  the  oats 
and  the  pitaties.     You  will  be  taking  the  harrows." 


THE   ]VL\KING    OF  A   MAN  22T 

"The  what?"  said  Kalman. 

"  The  harrows." 

Kahnan  looked  blank. 

"  Can  you  not  harrow?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Kalman.  "  What  is 
that.?  " 

"  Can  you  drop  pitaties,  then?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  repeated  Kalman,  shrinking  very 
considerably  in  his  own  estimation. 

"  Man,"  said  Mackenzie  pityingly,  "  where  did  ye 
come  from  anyway?  " 

"  Winnipeg." 

"Winnipeg?  I  know  it  well.  I  used  to.  But 
that  was  long  ago.  But  did  ye  nefer  drive  a 
team?" 

"  Never,"  said  Kalman.     "  But  I  want  to  learn." 

"  Och !  then,  and  what  will  he  be  wanting  with 
you  here?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Kalman. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Mackenzie.  "  He  iss  a  quare 
man  at  times,  and  does  quare  tilings." 

"  He  is  not,"  said  Kalman  hotly.  "  He  is  just  a 
splendid  man." 

Mackenzie  gazed  in  mild  surprise  at  the  angry 
face. 

"Hoot!  toot!"  he  said.  "Who  was  denyin'  ye? 
He  iss  all  that,  but  he  iss  mighty  quare,  as  you  will 
find  out.  But  come  away  and  we  will  get  the  horses. 
It  iss  a  peety  you  cannot  do  nothing." 


«28  THE   FOREIGNER 

"  You  show  me  what  to  do,"  said  Kalman  confi- 
dently, "  and  I  '11  do  it." 

The  stable  was  a  tumble-down  affair,  and  sorelj 
needing  attention,  as,  indeed,  was  the  case  with  the 
ranch  and  all  its  belongings.  A  team  of  horses 
showing  signs  of  hard  work  and  poor  care,  with 
harness  patched  with  rope  and  rawhide  thongs,  were 
waiting  in  the  stable.  Even  to  Kalman's  inexperi- 
enced eyes  it  was  a  deplorable  outfit. 

There  was  little  done  in  the  way  of  cultivation  of 
the  soil  upon  the  Night  Hawk  Ranch.  The  market 
was  far  away,  and  it  was  almost  impossible  to  secure 
farm  labour.  The  wants  of  French  and  his  house- 
hold were  few.  A  couple  of  fields  of  oats  and  barley 
for  his  horses  and  pigs  and  poultry,  another  for 
potatoes,  for  which  he  found  ready  market  at  the 
Crossing  and  in  the  lumber  camps  up  among  the 
hills,  exhausted  the  agricultural  pursuits  of  the 
ranch. 

Kalman  concentrated  his  attention  upon  the  process 
of  hitching  the  team  to  the  harrows,  and  then  fol- 
lowed Mackenzie  up  and  down  the  field  as  he  har- 
rowed in  the  oats.  It  seemed  a  simple  enough  matter 
to  gtiide  the  team  across  the  ploughed  furrows,  and 
Kalman,  as  he  observed,   grew  ambitious. 

"  Let  me  drive,"  he  said  at  length. 

"  Hoot !  toot !  boy,  you  would  be  letting  them  run 
away  with  you." 

"  Aw,  cut  it  out !  "  said  Kalman  scornfully. 


THE   IVIAKING   OF   A   MAN  229 

"What  are  you  saying?     Cut  what?" 

"  Oh,  give  us  a  rest !  " 

"  A  rest,  iss  it  ?  You  will  be  getting  tired  early. 
And  who  is  keeping  you  from  a  rest?  "  said  Mac- 
kenzie, whose  knowledge  of  contemporary  slang  was 
decidedly  meagre. 

"  Let  me  drive  once,"  pleaded  the  boy. 

"  Well,  try  it,  and  I  will  walk  along  side  of  you," 
said  Mackenzie,  with  apparent  reluctance. 

The  attempt  was  eminently  successful,  but  Kalman 
was  quick  both  with  hands  and  head.  After  the 
second  round  Mackenzie  allowed  the  boy  to  go  alone, 
remaining  in  the  shade  and  calling  out  directions 
across  the  field.  The  result  was  io  both  a  matter 
of  unmixed  delight.  With  Kalman  there  was  the 
gratification  of  the  boy's  passion  for  the  handling 
of  horses,  and  as  for  Mackenzie,  while  on  the  trail 
or  on  the  river,  he  was  indefatigable,  in  the  field  he 
had  the  Indian  hatred  of  steady  work.  To  lie  and 
smoke  on  the  grass  in  the  shade  of  a  poplar  bluff 
on  this  warm  shiny  spring  day  was  to  him  sheer 
bliss. 

But  after  a  time  Mackenzie  grew  restless.  His 
cup  of  bliss  still  lacked  a  drop  to  fill  it. 

"  Just  keep  them  moving,"  he  cried  to  Kalman- 
"  I  will  need  to  go  to  the  house  a  meenit." 

"  All  right.  Don't  hurry  for  me,"  said  Kalman, 
proud  of  his  new  responsibility  and  delighted  with 
his  new  achievement. 


S30  THE   FOREIGNER 

"  Keep  them  straight,  mind.  And  watch  your 
turning,"  warned  Mackenzie.  "  I  will  be  coming 
back  soon." 

In  less  than  half  an  hour  he  returned  in  a  most 
gracious   frame   of  mind. 

"  Man,  but  you  are  the  smart  lad,"  he  said  as 
Kalman  swung  his  team  around.  "  You  will  be  mak- 
ing a  great  rancher.  Tommy." 

"  My  name  is  Kalman." 

"  Well,  well,  Galium.  It  iss  a  fery  good  name, 
whatefer." 

"  Kalman !  "  shouted  the  boy. 

Mackenzie  nodded  grave  rebuke. 

"  There  is  no  occasion  for  shouting.  I  am  not 
deef,  Galium,  my  boy.  Go  on.  Go  on  with  your  har- 
rows," he  continued  as  Kalman  began  to  remonstrate. 

Kalman  drew  near  and  regarded  him  narrowly. 
The  truth  was  clear  to  his  experienced  eyes. 

"  You  're  drunk,"  he  exclaimed  disgustedly. 

"  Hoot,  toot !  Galium  man,"  said  Mackenzie  in 
tones  of  grieved  remonstrance,  "  how  would  you  be 
saying  that  now?  Gome  away,  or  I  will  be  taking 
the  team  myself." 

"  Aw,  go  on !  "  rephed  Kalman  contemptuously. 
*'  Let  me  alone !  " 

"  Good  boy,"  said  Mackenzie  with  a  paternal  smile, 
waving  the  boy  on  his  way  while  he  betook  himself 
to  the  bluff  side  and  there  supine,  continued  at  in- 
tervals to  direct  the  operation  of  harrowing. 


THE   MAKING   OF   A   MAN  231 

The  sun  grew  hot.  The  cool  morning  breeze 
dropped  flat,  and  as  the  hours  passed  the  boy  grew 
weary  and  footsore,  travelling  the  soft  furrows. 
Mackenzie  had  long  ceased  issuing  his  directions, 
and  had  subsided  into  smiling  silence,  contenting 
himself  with  a  friendly  wave  of  the  hand  as  Kalman 
made  the  turn.  The  poor  spiritless  horses  moved 
more  and  more  slowly,  and  at  length,  coming  to  the 
end  of  the  field,  refused  to  move  farther. 

"  Let  them  stand  a  bit,  Galium  boy,"  said  Mac- 
kenzie kindly.  "  Come  and  have  a  rest.  You  are 
the  fine  driver.     Come  and  sit  down." 

"  Will  the  horses  stand  here? "  asked  Kalman, 
whose  sense  of  responsibility  deepened  as  he  became 
aware  of  Mackenzie's  growing  incapacity. 

Mackenzie  laughed  pleasantly.  "  Will  they  stand? 
Yes,  and  that  they  will,  unless  they  will  lie  down.** 

Kalman  approached  and  regarded  him  with  the 
eye  of  an  expert. 

"  Look  here,  where 's  your  stuff?  "  said  the  boy 
at  length. 

Mackenzie  gazed  at  him  with  the  innocence  of 
childhood. 

"What  iss  it?" 

"  Oh,  come  off  your  perch !  you  blamed  old  roos- 
ter!    Where's  your  bottle?" 

"  What  iss  this?  "  said  Mackenzie,  much  affronted. 
*'  You  will  be  calling  me  names  ?  " 

As  he  rose  in  his  indignation   a  bottle   fell   from 


232  THE   FOREIGNER 

his  pocket.  Kalman  made  a  dash  toward  it,  but 
Mackenzie  was  too  quick  for  him.  With  a  savags 
curse  he  snatched  up  the  bottle,  and  at  the  same 
time  made  a  fierce  but  unsuccessful  lunge  at  the 
boy. 

"  You  little  deevil ! "  he  said  fiercely,  "  I  will  be 
knocking  your  head  off !  " 

Kalman  jibed  at  him.  "  You  are  a  nice  sort  of 
fellow  to  be  on  a  job.     What  will  your  boss  say?" 

Mackenzie's  face  changed  instantly. 

"  The  boss  ?  "  he  said,  glancing  in  the  direction 
of  the  house.  "  The  boss.''  What  iss  the  harm  of 
a  drop  when  you  are  not  well.''  " 

"  You  not  well !  "   exclaimed  Kalman   scornfully. 

Mackenzie  shook  his  head  sadly,  sinking  back  upon 
the  grass.  "  It  iss  many  years  now  since  I  have 
suffered  with  an  indisposeetion  of  the  bowels.  It 
iss  a  coalic,  I  am  thinking,  and  it  iss  hard  on  me. 
But,  Galium,  man,  it  will  soon  be  denner  time.  Just 
put  your  horses  in  and  I  will  be  following  you." 

But  Kalman  knew  better  than  that. 

"  I  don't  knov/  how  to  put  in  your  horses.  Come 
and  put  them  in  yourself,  or  show  me  how  to  do 
it."  He  was  indignant  with  the  man  on  his  master's 
behalf. 

Mackenzie  struggled  to  his  feet,  holding  the  bottle 
carefully  in  his  outside  coat  pocket.  Kalman  made 
up  his  mind  to  possess  himself  of  that  bottle  at  all 
costs.     The  opportunity  occurred  when  Mackenzie, 


THE   MAKING   OF   A   ISIAN  238 

stooping  to  unhitch  the  last  trace,  allowed  the  bottle 
to  slip  from  his  pocket.  Like  a  cat  on  a  mouse, 
Kalman  pounced   on   the  bottle  and  fled. 

The  change  in  Mackenzie  was  immediate  and  ap- 
palling. His  smiling  face  became  transformed  with 
fury,  liis  black  eyes  gleamed  with  the  cunning  ma- 
lignity of  the  savage,  he  shed  his  soft  Scotch  voice 
with  his  genial  manner,  the  very  movements  of  his 
body  became  those  of  his  Cree  progenitors.  Utter- 
ing hoarse  guttural  cries,  with  the  quick  crouching 
run  of  the  Indian  on  the  trail  of  his  foe,  he  chased 
Kalman  through  the  bluffs.  There  was  something 
so  fiendishly  terrifying  in  the  glimpses  that  Kalman 
caught  of  his  face  now  and  then  that  the  boy  was 
seized  with  an  overpowering  dread,  and  ceasing  to 
tantalize  his  pursuing  enemy,  he  left  the  bluffs  and 
fled  toward  the  house,  with  Mackenzie  hard  upon 
his  track.  Through  the  shed  the  boy  flew  and  into 
the  outer  room,  banging  the  door  hard  after  him. 
But  there  was  no  lock  upon  the  door,  and  he  could 
not  hope  to  hold  it  shut  against  his  pursuer.  He 
glanced  wildly  into  the  inner  room.  French  was 
I  nowhere  to  be  seen.  As  he  stood  in  unspeakable 
tei'ror,  the  door  opened  slowly  and  stealthily,  show- 
ing Mackenzie's  face,  distorted  with  rage  and  cun- 
ning hate.  With  a  silent  swift  movement  he  glided 
into  the  room,  and  without  a  sound  rushed  at  the 
boy.  Once,  twice  around  the  table  they  circled, 
Kalman  having  the  advantage  in  quickness  of  foot. 


234  THE   FOREIGNER 

Suddenly,  with  a  grunt  of  satisfaction,  Mackenzie's 
eye  fell  upon  a  gun  hanging  upon  the  wall.  In  a 
moment  he  had  it  in  liis  hand.  As  he  reached  for 
it,  however,  Kalman,  with  a  loud  cry,  plunged  head- 
long through  the  open  window  and  fled  again  toward 
the  bluffs.  Mackenzie  followed  swiftly  through  the 
door,  gun  in  hand.  He  ran  a  few  short  steps  after 
the  flying  boy,  and  was  about  to  throw  his  gun  to 
his  shoulder  when  a  voice  arrested  him. 

"  Here,  Mackenzie,  what  are  you  doing  with  that 
gun .''  " 

It  was  French,  standing  between  the  stable  and 
the  house,  dishevelled,  bloated,  but  master  of  him- 
self. Mackenzie  stopped  as  if  gripped  by  an  unseen 
arm. 

"  What  are  you  doing  with  that  gun  ?  "  repeated 
French  sternly.     "  Bring  it  to  me." 

Mackenzie  stood  in  sullen,  defiant  silence,  his  gun 
thrown  into  the  hollow  of  his  arm.  French  walked 
deliberately  toward  him. 

"  Give  me  that  gun,  you  dog !  "  he  said  with  an 
oath,  "  or  I  '11  kill  you  where  you  stand." 

Mackenzie  hesitated  but  only  for  a  moment,  and 
without  a  word  surrendered  the  gun,  the  fiendisln 
rage  fading  out  of  his  face,  the  aboriginal  blood 
lust  dying  in  his  eyes  like  the  snuffing  out  of  a 
candle.  In  a  few  brief  moments  he  became  once 
more  a  civilized  ma^,  subject  to  the  restraint  of  a 
thousand  years   of  Hfe  ordered  by  law. 


THE   MAKING   OF   A   MAN  235 

"  Kalman,  come  here,"  French  called  to  the  boy, 
who  stood  far  off. 

"  Mackenzie,"  said  French  with  great  dignity  as 
Kalman  drew  near,  "  I  want  you  to  know  that  tliis 
boy  is  a  ward  of  a  dear  friend,  and  is  to  me  like 
my  own  son.  Remember  that.  Kalman,  Macken-zie 
is  my  friend,  and  you  are  to  treat  him  as  such. 
Where  did  you  get  that.?  "  he  continued,  pointing 
to  the  bottle  which  Kalman  had  kept  clutched  in  his 
hand  through  all  the  exciting  pursuit. 

The  boy  stood  silent,  looking  at  Mackenzie. 

"  Speak,  boy,"  said  French  sharply. 

Kalman  remained  still  silent,  his  eyes  on  Mackenzie. 

"  It  iss  a  bottle  myself  had,"  said  Mackenzie. 

"  Ah,  I  understand.  All  right,  Kalman,  it 's  none 
of  your  business  what  Mackenzie  drinks.  Now,  Mac- 
kenzie, get  dinner,  and  no  more  of  this  nonsense." 

Without  a  word  of  parley  or  remonstrance  Mac- 
kenzie shuffled  off  toward  the  field  to  bring  in  the 
team.  French  turned  to  the  boy  and,  taking  the 
bottle  in  his  hand,  said,  "  This  is  dangerous  stuff, 
my  boy.  A  man  like  IMackenzie  is  not  to  be  trusted 
with  it,  and  of  course  it  is  not  for  boys." 
)  Kalman  made  no  reply.  His  mind  was  in  a  whirl 
of  perplexed  remembrances  of  the  sickening  scenes 
of  the  past  three  days. 

"  Go  now,"  said  French,  "  and  help  Mackenzie. 
He  won't  hurt  you  any  more.  He  never  keeps  a 
grudge.     That  is  the  Christian  in  him." 


236  THE    FOREIGNER 

During  the  early  part  of  the  afternoon  Mackenzie 
drove  the  harrows  while  French  moved  about  the 
ranch  doing  up  odds  and  ends.  But  neither  of  the 
men  was  quite  at  ease.  At  length  French  disap- 
peared into  the  house,  and  almost  immediately  after- 
wards Mackenzie  left  his  team  in  Kalman's  hands  ' 
and  followed  his  boss.  Hour  after  hour  passed. 
The  sun  sank  in  the  western  sky,  but  neither  mas- 
ter nor  man  appeared,  while  Kalman  kept  the  team 
steadily  on  the  move,  till  at  length  the  field  was 
finished.  Weary  and  filled  with  foreboding,  the  boy 
drove  the  horses  to  the  stable,  pulled  off  the  harness 
as  best  he  could,  gave  the  horses  food  and  drink 
and  went  into  the  house.  There  a  ghastly  scene 
met  his  eye.  On  the  floor  hard  by  the  table  lay 
Mackenzie  on  his  face,  snoring  heavily  in  a  drunken 
sleep,  and  at  the  table,  with  three  empty  bottles 
beside  him  and  a  fourth  in  his  hand,  sat  French, 
staring  hard  before  him  with  eyes  bloodshot  and 
sunken,  and  face  of  a  livid  hue.  He  neither  moved 
nor  spoke  when  Kalman  entered,  but  continued  star- 
ing steadily  before  him. 

The  boy  was  faint  with  hunger.  He  was  too  heart- 
sick to  attempt  to  prepare  food.  He  found  a  piece 
of  bannock  and,  washing  this  down  with  a  mug  of 
water,  he  crept  into  his  bunk,  and  there,  utterly 
miserable,  waited  till  his  master  should  sink  into 
sleep.  Slowly  the  light  faded  from  the  room  and 
the  shadows  crept  longer  and  deeper  over  tlie  floor 


THE   MAKING   OF   A   MAN  237 

till  all  was  dark.  But  still  the  boy  could  see  the 
outline  of  the  silent  man,  who  sat  without  sound  or 
motion  except  for  the  filling  and  emptying  of  his 
glass  from  time  to  time.  At  length  the  shadowy 
figure  bowed  slowly  toward  the  table  and  there 
remained. 

Sick  with  grief  and  fear,  the  boy  sprang  from  his 
bunk  and  sought  to  rouse  the  man  from  his  stupor, 
but  without  avail,  till  at  last,  wearied  with  his  in- 
effectual attempts  and  sobbing  in  the  bitterness  of 
his  grief,  he  threw  a  blanket  over  the  bowed  form 
and  retreated  to  his  bunk  again.  But  sleep  to  liim 
was  impossible,  for  often  throughout  the  night  he 
was  brought  to  his  feet  with  horrid  dreams,  to  be 
driven  shivering  again  to  his  bunk  with  the  more 
horrid  realities  of  his  surrounding's. 

At  length  as  day  began  to  dawn  he  fell  into  a  dead, 
dreamless  slumber,  waking,  when  it  was  broad  day, 
to  find  Mackenzie  sitting  at  the  table  eating  break- 
fast, and  with  a  bottle  beside  him.  French  was  not 
to  be  seen,  but  Kalman  could  hear  his  heavy  breath- 
ing from  the  inner  room.  To  Kalman  it  seemed  as 
if  he  were  still  in  the  grip  of  some  ghastly  night- 
mare. He  rubbed  his  eyes  and  looked  again  at  ]Mac- 
kenzie  in   stupid  amazement. 

"  What  are  you  glowering  at  yonder,  Galium, 
man,?"  said  Mackenzie,  pleasantly  ignoring  the 
events  of  the  previous   day.     "  Your  breakfast  iss 


238  THE   FOREIGNER 

ready  for  jou.  You  will  be  hungry  after  your  day's 
work.  Oh,  yes,  I  haf  been  seeing  it,  and  it  iss  well 
doncy  Galium,  mannie." 

Somehow  his  smiling  face  and  his  kindly  tone  filled 
Kalman  with  rage.  He  sprang  out  of  his  bunk  and 
ran  out  of  the  house.  He  hated  the  sight  of  the 
smiling,  pleasant-voiced  Mackenzie.  But  his  boy's 
hunger  drove  him  in  to  breakfast. 

"  Well,  Galium,  man,"  began  Mackenzie  in  pleas- 
ant salutation. 

"  My  name  is  Kalman,"  snapped  the  boy. 

"  Never  mind,  it  iss  a  good  name,  v/hatefer.  But 
I  am  saying  v/e  will  be  getting  into  the  pitaties  after 
breakfast.     Gan  ye  drop  pitaties.?  " 

"  Show  me  how,"  said  Kalman  shortly. 

"  And  that  I  will,"  said  Mackenzie  affably,  helping 
himself  to  the  bottle. 

"  How  many  bottles  of  that  stuff  are  there  left  ?  " 
asked  Kalman  disgustedly. 

"  And  why  would  you  be  wanting  to  know?  "  en- 
quired Mackenzie  cautiously.  "  You  would  not  be 
taking  any  of  the  whiskey  yourself.?  "  he  added  in 
grave  reproof. 

"  Oh,  go  on !  you  old  fool ! "  replied  the  boy 
angrily.  "  You  will  never  be  any  good  till  it  is  aE 
done,  I  know." 

Kalman  spoke  out  of  full  and  varied  experience  of 
the  ways  of  men  with  the  lust  of  drink  in  them. 


THE   MAKING   OF   A   MAN  239 

"  Well,  well,  maybe  so.  But  the  more  there  iss 
for  me,  the  less  there  iss  for  him,"  said  Mackenzie, 
jerking  his  head  toward  the  inner  door. 

"  Why  not  empty  it  out?  "  said  Kalman  in  an 
eager  undertone. 

"  Hoot !  toot !  man,  and  would  you  be  guilty  of 
sinful  waste  like  yon.?  No,  no,  never  with  Malcolm 
Mackenzie's  consent.  And  you  would  not  be  doing 
such  a  deed  yourself.''  "  Mackenzie  enquired  some- 
what  anxiously. 

Kalman  shook  his  head. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  he  might  be  angry.  But,"  con- 
tinued the  boy,  "  those  potatoes  must  be  finished  to- 
day.    I  heard  him  speaking  about  them  yesterday." 

"  And  that  iss  true  enough.  They  are  two  weeks 
late  now." 

"  Come  on,  then,"  cried  Kalman,  as  Mackenzie 
reached  for  the  bottle.     "  Come  and  show  me  how." 

"  There  iss  no  hurry,"  said  the  deliberate  Mac- 
kenzie, drinking  his  glass  with  slow  relish.  "  But 
first  the  pitaties  are  to  be  got  over  from  Garneau's." 

Again  and  again,  and  with  increasing  rage,  Kal- 
man sought  to  drag  INIackenzie  away  from  his  bottle 
and  to  his  work.  By  the  time  the  bottle  was  done 
Mackenzie  was   once  more  helpless. 

Three  days  later  French  came  forth  from  his 
room,  haggard  and  trembling,  to  find  every  bottle 
empty,  Mackenzie  making  ineffective  attempts  to 
prepare  a  meal,  and  Kalman  nowhere  to  be  seen. 


240  THE   FOREIGNER 

"  Where  is  the  boy  ?  "  he  enquired  of  Mackenzie 
in  an  uncertain  voice. 

"  I  know  not,"  said  Mackenzie. 

"  Go  and  look  for  him,  then,  you  idiot ! " 

In  a  short  time  French  was  summoned  by  Mac- 
kenzie's voice. 

"  Come  here,  will  you  ?  "  he  was  crying.  "  Come 
here  and  see  this   thing." 

With  a  dread  of  some  nameless  horror  in  his  heart, 
French  hurried  toward  the  little  knoll  upon  which 
Mackenzie  stood.  From  this  vantage  ground  could 
be  seen  far  off  in  the  potato  field  the  figure  of  the 
boy  with  two  or  three  women,  all  busy  with  the 
potatoes. 

"  What  do  you  make  that  out  to  be  ?  "  enquired 
French.  "  Who  in  the  mischief  are  they  ?  Go  and 
see." 

It  was  not  long  before  Mackenzie  stood  before  his 
master  with  Kalman  by  his  side. 

"  As  sure  as  death,"  said  Mackenzie,  "  he  has  a 
tribe  of  Galician  women  yonder,  and  the  pitaties 
iss  all  in." 

"What  do  you  say.?"  stammered  French. 

"  It  iss  what  I  am  telling  you.  The  pitaties  iss 
all  in,  and  this  lad  iss  bossing  the  job,  and  the 
Galician   women   working   like   naygurs." 

"  What  does  this  mean?  "  said  French,  turning 
his  eyes  slowly  upon  Kalman.  The  boy  looked  older 
by  years.     He  was  worn  and  haggard. 


THE   MAKING   OF  A  MAN  241 

**  I  saw  a  woman  passing,  she  was  a  Galiclan,  she 
brought  the  others,  and  the  potatoes  are  done. 
They  have  come  here  two  days.  But,"  said  the  boy 
slowly,  "  there  is  nothing  to  eat." 

With  a  mighty  oath  French  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"  Do  you  tell  me  you  are  hungry,  boy  ?  "  he  roared. 

*'  I  could  not  find  much,"  said  Kalman,  his  lip 
trembling  in  spite  of  himself. 

"  What  are  you  standing  there  for,  Mackenzie  ?  " 
roared  French.  "  Confound  you  for  a  drunken  dog ! 
Confound  us  both  for  two  drunken  fools !  Get  some- 
thing to  eat !  " 

There  was  something  so  terrible  in  his  look  and 
in  his  voice  that  IMackenzie  fairly  ran  to  obey  his 
order.  Kalman  stood  before  his  master  pale  and 
shaking.  He  was  weak  from  lack  of  food,  but  more 
from  anxiety  and  grief. 

"  I  did  the  best  I  could,"  he  said,  struggling 
manfully  to  keep  his  voice  steady,  "  and  —  I  am  — 
awful  glad  —  you  're  —  better."  His  command  v/as 
all  gone.  He  threw  himself  upon  the  grass  while 
sobs  shook  his  frame. 

French  stood  a  moment  looking  down  upon  him, 
his  face  revealing  thoughts  and  feelings  none  too 
pleasant. 

"  Kalman,  you  're  a  good  sort,"  he  said  in  a  hoarse 
voice.  "  You  're  a  man,  by  Jove !  and,"  in  an  un- 
dertone, "  T  'm  hanged,  if  I  don't  think  you  '11  make 
a  man  of  me  yet."     Then  kneeling  by  his  side,  he 

16 


242  THE   FOREIGNER 

raised  him  in  his  arms.  "  Kalman,"  he  said,  "  you 
are  a  brick  and  a  gentleman.  I  have  been  a  brute 
and  a  cad." 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  no !  "  sobbed  the  boy.  "  You  are  a 
good  man.  But  I  wish  —  you  would  —  leave  —  it 
—  alone." 

"  In  God's  name,"  said  French  bitterly,  "  I  wish 
it  too." 


BROWN  «4S 


CHAPTER    Xin 


BROWN 


TWO  weeks  of  life  in  the  open,  roaming  the 
prairie  alone  with  the  wolf  hounds,  or  with 
French  after  the  cattle,  did  much  to  obliterate  the 
mark  which  those  five  days  left  upon  Kalman's  body 
and  soul.  From  the  very  first  the  boy  had  no  diffi- 
culty in  mastering  the  art  of  sticking  on  a  broncho's 
back,  partly  because  he  was  entirely  without  fear, 
but  largely  because  he  had  an  ear  and  an  eye  for 
rhythm  in  sound  and  in  motion.  He  conceived  clearly 
the  idea  by  watching  French  as  he  loped  along  on 
his  big  iron  grey,  and  after  that  it  was  merely  a 
matter  of  translating  the  idea  into  action.  Every 
successful  rider  must  first  conceive  himself  as  a  rider. 
In  two  weeks*  time  Kalman  could  sit  the  buckskin 
and  send  him  across  the  prairie,  swinging  him  by 
the  neck  guide  around  badger  holes  and  gopher  holes,' 
up  and  down  the  steep  sides  of  the  Night  Hawk 
ravine,  without  ever  touching  leather.  The  fearless 
ease  he  displayed  in  mastering  the  equestrian  art 
did  more  than  anything  else  to  win  him  his  place 
in  the  old  half-breed  Mackenzie's  affection. 

The  pride  of  the  ranch  was  Black  Joe,  a  Percheron 


244  THE   FOREIGNER 

stallion  that  French  a  year  before  had  purchased, 
with  the  idea  of  improving  his  horse  stock  to  an- 
ticipate the  market  for  heavy  horses,  which  he  fore- 
saw the  building  of  railroads  would  be  sure  to  pro- 
vide. Black  Joe  was  kept  in  a  small  field  that  took 
in  a  bit  of  the  bluff  and  ran  down  to  the  lake,  afford" 
ing  shelter,  drink,  and  good  feeding. 

Dismay,  therefore,  smote  the  ranch,  when  Mac- 
kenzie announced  one  morning  that  Black  Joe  had 
broken  out  and  was  gone. 

"  He  can't  be  far  away,"  said  French ;  "  take  % 
circle  round  towards  the  east.  He  has  likely  gone 
off  with  Gameau's  bunch." 

But  at  noon  Mackenzie  rode  back  to  report  that 
nowhere  could  the  stallion  be  seen,  that  he  had 
rounded  up  Garneau's  ponies  without  coming  across 
any  sign  of  the  stallion. 

"  I  am  afraid  he  has  got  across  the  Eagle,"  said 
French,  "  and  if  he  has  once  got  on  to  those  plains, 
there  will  be  the  very  deuce  to  pay.  Well,  get  a 
move  on,  and  try  the  country  across  the  creek  first. 
No,  hold  on.  I  '11  go  myself.  Throw  the  saddle 
on  Roanoke ;  I  '11  put  some  grub  together,  for  there  'a 
J  no  time  to  be  lost." 

Kalman  started  up  and  stood  eagerly  expectant, 
French  glanced  at  him. 

"  It  will  be  a  hard  ride,  Kalman ;  I  am  a  littk 
afraid." 

"  Try   me,    sir,"    said    tlie   boy,    who    had   uncon' 


BROWN  245 

Bciously  in  conversation  with  French  dropped  much 
of  his  street  vernacular,  and  had  adopted  to  a  large 
extent  his  master's  forms  of  speech. 

"  All  right,  boy.     Get  ready  and  come  along." 

While  the  horses  were  being  saddled,  French  rolled 
up  into  two  neat  packs  a  couple  of  double  blankets, 
grub  consisting  of  Hudson's  Bay  biscuits,  pork,  tea 
and  sugar,  a  camp  outfit  comprising  a  pan,  a  tea- 
pail,   and  two   cups. 

"  So  long,  Mackenzie,"  said  French,  as  they  rode 
away.  "  Hold  down  the  ranch  till  we  get  back. 
We  '11  strike  out  north  from  here,  then  swing  round 
across  the  Night  Hawk  toward  the  hills  and  back  by 
the  Eagle  and  Wakota,  and  come  up  the  creek." 

To  hunt  up  a  stray  beast  on  the  wide  open  prairie 
seems  to  the  uninitiated  a  hopeless  business,  but  it 
is  a  simple  matter,  after  all.  One  has  to  know  the 
favourite  feeding-grounds,  the  trails  that  run  to 
these  grounds,  and  have  an  idea  of  the  limits  within 
which  cattle  and  horses  will  range.  As  a  rule,  each 
band  has  its  own  feeding-grounds  and  its  own  spots 
for  taking  shelter.  The  difficulties  of  search  are 
enormously  increased  by  the  broken  character  of  a 
rolling  bluffy  prairie.  The  bluffs  intercept  the  view, 
and  the  rolls  on  the  prairie  can  hide  successfully 
a,  large  bunch  of  cattle  or  horses,  and  it  may  take 
a  week  to  beat  up  a  country  thickly  strewn  with 
bluffs,  and  diversified  with  coulees  that  might  easily 
te  searched  in  a  sinn-le  afternoon. 


246  THE   FOREIGNER 

The  close  of  the  third  day  found  the  travellers  on 
Wakota  trail. 

"  We  '11  camp  right  here,  Kalman,"  said  French, 
as  they  reached  a  level  tongue  of  open  prairie, 
around  three  sides  of  which  flowed  the  Eagle  River. 

Of  all  their  camps  during  the  three  days'  search 
none  was  so  beautiful,  and  none  lived  so  long  in 
Kalman's  memory,  as  the  camp  by  the  Eagle  River 
near  Wakota.  The  firm  green  sward,  cropped  short 
by  a  succession  of  campers'  horses,  —  for  this  was  a 
choice  spot  for  travellers,  —  the  flowing  river  with 
its  soft  gurgling  undertone,  the  upstanding  walls 
of  the  poplar  bluffs  in  all  the  fresh  and  ample  beauty 
of  the  early  summer  drapery,  the  over-arching  sky, 
deep  and  blue,  through  which  peeped  the  shy  stars, 
and  the  air,  so  sweet  and  kindly,  breathing  about 
them.  It  was  all  so  clean,  so  fresh,  so  unspoiled 
to  the  boy  that  it  seemed  as  if  he  had  dropped  into 
a  new  world,  remote  from  and  unrelated  to  any  other 
world  he  had  hitherto  known. 

They  picketed  their  horses,  and  with  supper  over, 
they  sat  down  before  their  fire,  for  the  evening  air 
was  chill,  in  weary,  dreamy  delight.  They  spoke 
few  words.  Like  all  men  who  have  lived  close  to 
Nature,  whether  in  woods  or  in  plains,  French  had 
developed  a  habit  of  silence,  and  this  habit,  as  all 
others,  Kalman  was  rapidly  taking  on. 

As  they  rechned  thus  dreamily  watching  the  leap- 
ing fire,  a  canoe  came  down  the  river,  in  the  stem 


BROWN  247 

of  which  sat  a  man  whose  easy  grace  proclaimed 
long  practice  in  the  canoeman's  art.  As  his  eyes 
fell  upon  the  fire,  he  paused  in  his  paddling,  and 
with  two  or  three  swift  flips  he  turned  his  canoe 
toward  the  bank,  and  landing,  pulled  it  up  on  the 
shore. 

He  was  a  young  man  of  middle  height,  stoutly 
built,   and  with  a  strong,   good-natured   face. 

"  Good  evening,"  he  said  in  a  cheery  voice,  "  camped 
for  the  night.''  " 

"  Yes,  camped  for  the  night,"  repHed  French. 

"  I  have  a  tent  up  stream  a  little  way.  I  should 
be  glad  to  have  you  camp  with  me.  It  is  going  to 
be  a  little  chilly." 

"  Oh,  we  're  all  right,  are  n't  we,  Kalman  ?  "  said 
French. 

The  boy  turned  and  gave  him  a  quick  look  of 
perfect  satisfaction.     "  First  rate !     You  bet !  " 

"  The  dew  is  going  to  be  heavy,  though,"  said 
the  stranger,  "  and  it  will  be  cold  before  the  night 
is  over,  I  have  not  much  to  offer  you,  only  shelter, 
but  I  'd  like  awfully  to  have  you  come.  A  visitor 
is  a  rare  thing  here." 

"  Well,"  said  French,  "  since  you  put  it  that  way 
we  '11  go,  and  I  am  sure  it  is  very  decent  of  you." 

"  Not  at  all.  The  favour  will  be  to  me.  My  name 
is  Brown." 

"  And  mine  is  French,  Jack  French  throughout 
this  coivntry,  as  perhaps  you  have  heard." 


248  THE   FOREIGNER 

*'  I  have  been  here  only  a  few  days,  and  have 
heard  very  little,"  said  Brown. 

"  And  this,"  continued  French,  "  is  Kalman  Kal- 
mar,  a  friend  of  mine  from  Winnipeg,  and  more 
remotely  from  Russia,  but  now  a  good  Canadian." 

Brown  gave  each  a  strong  cordial  grasp  of  his 
hand. 

"  You  can't  think,"  he  said,  "  how  glad  I  am  to 
see  you." 

"  Is  there  a  trail  ?  "  asked  French. 

*'  Yes,  a  trail  of  a  sort.  Follow  the  v/inding  of 
the  river  and  you  will  come  to  my  camp  at  the  next 
bend.  You  can't  miss  it.  I  '11  go  up  in  the  canoe 
and  come  down  to  meet  you." 

"  Don't  trouble,"  said  French;  "  we  know  our  way 
about  this  country." 

Following  a  faint  trail  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
through  the  bluffs,  they  came  upon  an  open  space 
on  the  river  bank  similar  to  the  one  they  had  left, 
In  the  midst  of  which  stood  Brown's  tent.  That 
tent  was  a  wonder  to  behold,  not  only  to  Kalman, 
but  also  to  French,  who  had  a  large  experience  in 
tents  of  various  kinds.  Ten  by  twelve,  and  with  a 
four-foot  wall,  every  inch  was  in  use.  The  ground 
which  made  the  floor  was  covered  with  fresh,  sweet- 
smelling  swamp  hay;  in  one  corner  was  a  bed,  neat 
as  a  soldier's ;  in  the  opposite  corner  a  series  of 
cupboards  made  out  of  packing  cases,  filled,  one  with 
books,  one  with  drugs  and  surgical  instruments,  an- 


BROWN  249 

other  with  provisions.  Hanging  from  the  ridge- 
pole was  a  double  shelf,  and  attached  to  the  back 
upright  were  a  series  of  pigeon-hole  receptacles.  It 
was  a  wonder  of  convenience  and  comfort,  and  albeit 
it  was  so  packed  with  various  impedimenta,  such 
was  the  orderly  neatness  of  it  that  there  seemed  to 
be  abundance  of  room. 

At  the  edge  of  the  clearing  Brown  met  them. 

"  Here  you  are,"  he  cried.  "  Come  along  and 
make  yourselves  at  home." 

His  every  movement  was  full  of  brisk  energy,  and 
his  voice  carried  with  it  a  note  of  cheery  frankness 
that  bespoke  the  simplicity  and  kindhness  of  the 
good  and  honest  heart. 

In  a  few  moments  Brown  had  a  fire  blazing  in 
front  of  the  tent,  for  the  night  air  was  chill,  and 
a  heavy  dew  was  falling. 

"  Here  you  are,"  he  cried,  throwing  down  a  couple 
of  rugs  before  the  fire.  "  Make  yourselves  comfort- 
able.    I  believe  in  comfort  myself." 

"  Well,"  said  French,  glancing  into  the  tent, 
throwing  himself  down  before  the  fire,  "  you  ap- 
parently do,  and  you  have  attained  an  unqualified 
success  in  exemplifying  your  belief.  You  certainly 
do  yourself  well." 

"  Oh,  I  am  a  lazy  dog,"  said  Brown  cheerfully, 
"  and  can't  do  without  my  comforts.  But  you  don't 
know  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you.  I  can't  stand 
being  alone.  I  get  most  awfully  blue  and  funky, 
naturally  nervous  and  timid,  you  know." 


250  THE    FOREIGNER 

"  You  do,  eh  ?  "  said  French,  pleasantly.  "  Well, 
if  you  ask  me,  I  believe  you  're  lying,  or  your 
face  is." 

"  Not  a  bit,  not  a  bit.  Good  thing  a  fellow  has 
a  skin  to  draw  over  his  insides.  I  'd  hate  the  world 
to  see  all  the  funk  that  there  is  in  my  heart." 

French  pulled  out  his  pipe,  stirred  up  its  contents 
with  his  knife,  struck  a  match,  and  proceeded  to 
draw  what  comfort  he  could  from  the  remnants  of 
his  last  smoke.  The  result  was  evidently  not  en- 
tirely satisfactory.  He  began  searching  his  pockets 
with  elaborate  care,  but  all  in  vain,  and  with  a  sigh 
of  disappointment  he  sank  back  on   the  rug. 

"  Hello ! "  said  Brown,  whose  eyes  nothing  seemed 
to  escape,  "  I  know  what  you  're  after.  You  have 
left  your  pouch.  Well,  let  that  be  a  lesson  to  you. 
You  ought  not  to  indulge  habits  that  are  liable 
any  moment  to  involve  you  in  such  distress.  Now 
look  at  you,  a  big,  healthy,  able-bodied  man,  on  a 
night  like  this  too,  with  all  the  splendour  and  glory 
of  sky  and  woods  and  river  about  you,  with  decent 
company  too,  and  a  good  fire,  and  yet  you  are  in- 
capable of  enjoyment.  You  are  an  abnormality,  and 
you  have  made  yourself  so.  You  need  treatment ; 
I  am  going  to  administer  it  forthwith." 

He  disappeared  into  liis  tent,  leaving  Kalman  in 
a  fury  of  rage,  and  French  with  an  amused  smile 
upon  his  face.  After  a  few  moments'  rummaging 
Brown  appeared  with  a  package  in  his  hand. 


BROWN  251 

"  In  cases  like  yours,"  he  said  gravely,  "  I  pre- 
scribe vapores  nicotinenses.  I  hope  you  have  for- 
gotten your  Latin.  Here  is  a  brand,  a  very  special 
brand,  which  I  keep  for  decoy  purposes.  Having 
once  used  this,  you  will  be  sure  to  come  back  again. 
Try  that,"  he  cried  in  a  threatening  tone,  "  and 
look  me  in  the  eye." 

The  anger  fled  from  Kalman's  face,  and  he  began 
to  understand  that  their  new  friend  had  been  simply 
jollying  them,  and  he  sincerely  hoped  that  neither 
he  nor  French  had  noticed  his  recent  rage. 

French  filled  his  pipe  with  the  mixture,  lit  it,  and 
took  one  or  two  experimental  draws,  then  with  a 
great  sigh  he  threw  liimself  back  upon  the  rug,  his 
arms  under  his  head,  and  puffed  away  with  every 
symptom  of  delight. 

"  See  here,  Brown,"  he  said,  sitting  up  again 
after  a  few  moments  of  blissful  silence,  "  this  is 
'Old  London,'  isn't  it.?" 

"  See  here,  French,  don't  you  get  off  any  of  your 
high  British  nonsense.  '  Old  London,'  indeed !  No, 
sir,  that  is  '  Young  Canada  ' ;  that  is,  I  have  a  friend 
in  Cuba  who  sends  me  the  Prince  of  Wales  brand." 

French  smoked  on  for  some  moments. 

"  Without  being  rude,  how  much  of  this  have  you 
in  stock.?  " 

"  How  much  ?  Enough  to  fill  your  pipe  whenever 
you  come  round." 

"  My  word !  "  exclaimed  French.  "  You  don't 
dispense  this  to  the  general  public,  do  you.?  " 


252  THE   FOREIGNER 

"  Not  much,  I  don't,"  said  Brown.  "  I  select  mj 
patients." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  French.  "  I  take  this  as  a 
mark  of  extreme  hospitality.  By  the  way,  where  is 
your  own  pipe.''  " 

"  I  have  abjured." 

"  What?  " 

"  Abjured." 

"  And  yet  you  have  many  of  the  marks  of  sanity." 

"  Sanity !  You  j  ust  note  it,  and  the  most  strik- 
ing is  that  I  don't  have  a  pipe." 

"  Expound  me  the  riddle,  please." 

"  The  exposition  is  simple  enough.  I  am  consti- 
tutionally lazy  and  self-indulgent,  and  almost  desti- 
tute of  self-control  —  " 

"  And  permit  me  to  inter  j  ect  without  offence,  an 
awful  liar,"  said  French  pleasantly.     "  Go  on." 

"  I  came  out  here  to  work.  With  a  pipe  and  a 
few  pounds  of  that  mixture  —  " 

"  Pounds  !     Ah !  "  ej  aculated  French. 

"  I  would  find  myself  immersed  in  dreamy  seas 
of  vaporous  and  idle  bliss  —  do  you  catch  that 
combination?  —  and  fancy  myself,  mark  you,  busy 
all  the  time.  It  is  the  smoker's  dementia  accentu- 
ated by  such  a  mixture  as  this,  that  while  he  is 
blowing  rings  he  imagines  he  is  doing  something  —  " 

"  The  deuce  he  does!     And  he  is  jolly  well  right." 

"  So,  having  something  other  to  do  than  blow 
rings,  I  have  abjured  the  pipe.  There  are  othew 
reasons,  but  that  will  suffice." 


BROWN  953 

"  Abundantly,"  said  French  with  emphasis,  "  and 
permit  me  to  remark  that  you  have  been  talking 
rot." 

Brown  shook  his  head  with  a  smile. 

"  Now  tell  me,"  continued  French,  "  what  is  your 
idea?  What  have  you  in  view  in  planting  yourself 
down  here.''  In  short,  to  put  it  bluntly,  what  are 
you  doing.''  " 

"  Doing  nothing,  as  yet,"  said  Brown  cheerfully, 
"  but  I  want  to  do  a  lot.  I  have  got  this  Galician 
colony  in  my  eye." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  French,  "  are  you  by 
any  chance  a  preacher.''  " 

"  Well,  I  may  be,  though  I  can't  preach  much. 
But  my  main  line  is  the  kiddies.  I  can  teach  them 
English,  and  then  I  am  going  to  doctor  them,  and, 
if  they  '11  let  me,  teach  them  some  of  the  elements 
of  domestic  science ;  in  short,  do  anything  to  make 
them  good  Christians  and  good  Canadians,  which 
is  the  same  thing." 

"  That  is  a  pretty  large  order.  Look  here,  now," 
said  French,  sitting  up,  "  you  look  like  a  sensible 
fellow,  and  open  to  advice.  Don't  be  an  ass  and 
throw  yourself  away.  I  know  these  people  well.  In 
a  generation  or  two  something  may  be  done  with 
them.  You  can't  make  a  silk  purse  out  of  a  sow's 
ear,  you  know.  Give  it  up.  Take  up  a  ranch  and 
go  cattle  raising.  That  is  my  advice.  I  know  them. 
You  can't  undo  in  your  lifetime  the  results  of  three 


254  THE    FOREIGNER 

centuries.  It 's  a  hopeless  business.  I  tried  myself 
to  give  them  some  pointers  when  they  came  in  first, 
and  worried  a  good  deal  about  it.  I  got  myself 
disliked  for  my  pains  and  suffered  considerable  an- 
noyance. Now  I  leave  them  beautifully  alone.  Their 
suspicions  have  vanished  and  they  no  longer  look 
at  me  as  if  I  were  a  thief." 

Brown's  face  grew  serious.  "  It 's  a  fact,  they 
are  suspicious,  frightfully.  I  have  been  talking 
school  to  them,  but  they  won't  have  a  school  as  a 
gift.  My  Church,  the  Presbyterian,  you  know, 
offers  to  put  up  a  school  for  them,  since  the  Gov- 
ernment won't  do  anything,  but  they  are  mightily 
afraid  that  this  is  some  subtle  scheme  for  extract- 
ing money  from  them.  But  what  can  you  expect? 
The  only  church  they  know  has  bled  them  dry,  and 
they  fear  and  hate  the  very  name  of  church." 

"  By  Jove !    I  don't  wonder,"  said  French. 

"  Nor  do  I." 

"  But  look  here.  Brown,"  said  French,  "  you  don't 
mean  to  tell  me,  —  I  assure  you  I  don't  wish  to  be 
rude,  —  but  you  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  have 
come  here,  a  man  of  your  education  and  snap  —  " 

"  Thank  you,"   said  Brown. 

"  To  teach  a  lot  of  Galician  children." 

"  Well,"  said  Brown,  "  I  admit  I  have  come  par- 
tially for  my  health.  You  see,  I  am  constitutionally 
inclined  —  " 

"  Oh,  come  now,"  said  French,  "  as  my  friend 
Kalman  would  remark,  cut  it  out." 


BROWN  255 

"  Partially  for  my  health,  and  partially  for  the 
good  of  the  country.  These  people  here  exist  as 
an  undigested  foreign  mass.  They  must  be  digested 
and  absorbed  into  the  body  politic.  They  must  be 
taught  our  ways  of  thinking  and  living,  or  it  will 
be  a  mighty  bad  thing  for  us  in  Western  Canada. 
Do  you  know,  there  are  over  twenty-five  thousand 
of  them  already  in  this  country.?  " 

"  Oh,  that 's  all  right,"  said  French,  "  but  they  '11 
learn  our  ways  fast  enough.  And  as  for  teaching 
their  children,  pardon  me,  but  it  seems  to  me  you 
pre  too  good  a  man  to  waste  in  that  sort  of  thing. 
Why,  bless  my  soul,  you  can  get  a  girl  for  fifty 
dollars  a  month  who  would  teach  them  fast  enough. 
But  you  —  now  you  could  do  big  things  in  tliis  coun- 
try,  and  there  are  going  to  be  big  things  doing 
liere  in  a  year  or  two." 

"  What  things  ?  "  said  Brown  with  evident  interest. 

"  Oh,  well,  ranching,  farming  on  a  big  scale,  build- 
ing railroads,  lumber  up  on  the  hills,  then,  later,  pub- 
he  Hfe.  We  will  be  a  province,  you  know,  one  of 
these  days,  and  the  men  who  are  in  at  the,  founda- 
tion making  will  stand  at  the  top  later  on." 

"  You  're  all  right,"  cried  Brown,  his  eyes  alight 
with  enthusiasm.  "  There  will  be  big  things  doing, 
and,  believe  me,  this  is  one  of  them." 

"  What.?  Teaching  a  score  of  dirty  little  Gali- 
cians.''  The  chances  are  you'll  spoil  them.  They 
are  good  workers  as  they  are.     None  better.     They 


256  THE   FOREIGNER 

are  easy  to  handle.  You  go  in  and  give  them  some 
of  our  Canadian  ideas  of  living  and  all  that,  and 
before  you  know  they  are  striking  for  higher  wages 
and  giving  no  end  of  trouble." 

"  You  would  suppress  the  school,  then,  in  Western 
Canada.?  "  said  Brown. 

"  No,  not  exactly.  But  if  you  educate  these 
fellows,  you  hear  me,  they  '11  run  your  country,  by 
Jove !  in  half  a  dozen  years,  and  you  would  n't  like 
that  much." 

"  That 's  exactly  it,"  replied  Brown  ;  "  they  '11  run 
your  country  anyhow  you  put  it,  school  or  no  school, 
and,  therefore,  you  had  better  fit  them  for  the  job. 
You  have  got  to  make  them  Canadian." 

"  A  big  business  that,"  said  French. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Brown,  "  there  are  two  agencies 
that  will  do  it." 

"  Namely." 

"  The  school  and  the  Church." 

"  Oh,  yes,  that 's  all  right,  I  guess,"  losing  in- 
terest in  the  discussion. 

"  That 's  my  game  too,"  said  Brown  with  increas- 
ing eagerness.  "  That 's  my  idea,  —  the  school  and 
the  Church.  You  say  the  big  things  are  ranches, 
railroads,  and  mills.  So  they  are.  But  the  really 
big  things  are  the  things  that  give  us  our  ideas  and 
our  ideals,  and  those  are  the  school  and  the  Church. 
But,  I  say,  you  will  be  wanting  to  turn  in.  You 
wait  a  minute  and  I  '11  make  your  bed." 


BROT\T^  257^ 

"Bed?  Nonsense!'*  said  French.  "Your  tent 
floor  is  all  right.  I  've  been  twenty  years  in  this 
country,  and  Kalman  is  already  an  old  timer,  so 
don't  you  start  anything." 

"  Might  as  well  be  comfortable,"  said  Brown 
cheerfully.  "  I  have  a  great  weakness  for  comfort. 
In  fact,  I  can't  bear  to  be  uncomfortable.  I  Uve 
luxuriously.     I  '11  be  back  in  a  few  minutes." 

He  disappeared  behind  a  bluff  and  came  back 
in  a  short  time  with  a  large  bundle  of  swamp-grass, 
which  he  speedily  made  into  a  very  comfortable 
bed. 

"  Now  then,"  he  said  cheerfully,  "  there  you  are. 
Have  you  any  objection  to  prayers .-^  It  is  a  rule 
of  this  camp  to  have  prayers  night  and  morning, 
especially  if  any  strangers  happen  along.  I  like 
to  practise  on  them,  you  know." 

French  nodded  gravely.  "  Good  idea.  I  can't 
say  it  is  common  in  this  country." 

Brown  brought  out  two  hymn  books  and  passed 
one  to  French,  stirred  up  the  fire  to  a  bright  blaze, 
and  proceeded  to  select  a  hymn.  Suddenly  he  turned 
to  Kalman.     "  I  say,  my  boy,  do  you  read.''  " 

"  Sure  thing !    You  bet !  "  said  Kalman  indignantly. 

"  Educated,  you  see,"  said  French  apologetically. 
"  Street  University,  Winnipeg." 

"  That 's  all  right,  boy.  I  '11  get  you  a  book  for 
yourself.  We  have  lots  of  them.  Now,  French, 
ifcu  select." 

17 


258  THE   FOREIGNER 

"  Oh,  me?  You  better  go  on.  I  don't  know  your 
book." 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Brown  emphatically.  "  You  have 
got  to  select,  and  you  have  got  to  read  too.  Rule 
of  the  camp.  True,  I  did  n't  feed  you,  but  then  — 
I  hesitate  to  speak  of  it  —  perhaps  you  remember 
that  mixture." 

"  Do  I?  Oh,  well,  certainly,  if  you  put  it  that 
way,"  said  French.  "  Let  's  see,  all  the  old  ones 
are  here.  Suppose  we  make  it  a  good  old-fashioned 
one.  How  will  this  do?  "  He  passed  the  book  to 
Brown. 

"  Just  the  thing,"  said  Brown.  "  *  Nearer,  my 
God,  to  Thee.'     Can  you  find  it,  Kalman?  " 

"  Why,  cert,"  said  Kalman. 

French  glanced  apologetically  at  Brown. 

"  Recently  caught,"  he  explained,  "  but  means  no 
harm." 

Brown  nodded. 

"  Proceed  with  the  reading,"  he  said. 

French  laid  down  his  pipe,  took  off  his  hat,  Kalman 
following  his  example,  and  began  to  read.  Instinc- 
tively, as  he  read,  his  voice  took  a  softer  modulation 
(than  in  ordinary  speech.  His  manner,  too,  became 
touched  with  reverent  dignity.  His  very  face  seemed 
to  grow  finer.  Brown  sat  listening,  with  his  face 
glowing  with  pleasure  and  surprise. 

"  Fine  old  hymn  that !  Great  hymn  !  And  finely 
read,  if  I  might  say  so.     Now  we  '11  sing." 


BROWN  25© 

His  voice  was  strong,  true,  and  not  unmusical, 
and  what  he  lacked  of  finer  qualities  he  made  up  in 
volume  and  force.  His  visitors  joined  in  the  sing- 
ing, Kalman  following  the  air  in  a  low  sweet  tone, 
French  singins:  bass. 

"  Can't   you    sing    any    louder.? "    said   Brown    to  , 
Kalman.     "  There  's  nobody  to  disturb  but  the  fish 
and  the  Galicians  up  yonder.     Pipe  up,  my  boy,  if 
you  can.     I  could  n't  sing  softly  if  I  tried.     Can  he 
sing  ?  "  he  enquired  of  French. 

"  Don't  know.  Sing  up,  Kalman,  if  jou  can,'* 
said  French. 

Then  Kalman  sat  up  and  sang.  Strong,  pure, 
clear,  his  voice  rose  upon  the  night  until  it  seemed 
to  fill  the  whole  space  of  clearing  and  to  soar  away 
off  into  the  sky.  As  the  boy  sang,  French  laid 
down  the  book  and  in  silence  gazed  upon  the  singer's 
face.  Through  verse  after  verse  the  others  sang  to 
the  end. 

"  I  say,  boy,"  said  Bro^vn,  "  you  're  great !  I  'd 
like  to  hear  you  sing  that  last  verse  alone.  Get  up 
and  try  it.     What  do  you  say.?" 

Without  hesitation  the  boy  rose  up.  His  spirit 
had  caught  the  inspiration  of  the  hymn  and  began, 

"  Or  if  on  j  oy f ul  wing 

Cleaving  the  sky. 
Sun,  moon,  and  stars  forgot, 

Upward  I  fly. 
Still  all  my  song  shall  be, 
Nearer,  my  God,  to  Thee, 

Nearer  to  Thee!" 


260  THE   FOREIGNER 

The  warm  soft  light  from  the  glow  still  left  in  the 
western  sky  fell  on  his  face  and  touched  his  yellow 
hair  with  glory.  A  silence  followed,  so  deep  and 
full  that  it  seemed  to  overflow  the  space  so  recently 
filled  with  song,  and  to  hold  and  prolong  the  melody 
of  that  exquisite  voice.  Brown  reached  across  and 
put  his  hand  on  the  boy's  shoulder. 

"  Boy,  boy,"  he  said  solemnly,  "  keep  that  voice 
for  God.     It  surely  belongs  to  Him." 

French  neither  spoke  nor  moved.  He  could  not. 
Deep  floods  were  surging  through  him.  For  one 
brief  moment  he  saw  in  vision  a  little  ivy-coloured 
church  in  its  environment  of  quiet  country  lanes  in 
far-away  England,  and  in  the  church,  the  family 
pew,  where  sat  a  man  stern  and  strong,  a  woman 
beside  him  and  two  little  boys,  one,  the  younger, 
holding  her  hand  as  they  sat.  Then  with  swift  change 
of  scene  he  saw  a  queer,  rude,  wooden  church  in  the 
raw  frontier  town  in  the  new  land,  and  in  the  church 
himself,  his  brother,  and  between  them,  a  fair,  slim 
girl,  whose  face  and  voice  as  she  sang  made  him 
forget  all  else  in  heaven  and  on  earth.  The  tides 
of  memory  rolled  in  upon  his  soul,  and  with  them 
strangely  mingled  the  swelling  springs  rising  from 
this  scene  before  him,  with  its  marvellous  setting  of 
sky  and  woods  and  river.  No  wonder  he  sat  voice- 
less and  without  power  to  move. 

All  this  Brown  could  not  know,  but  he  had  that 
instinct    born    of   keen    sympathy    that   is    so    much 


BROWN  261 

better  than  knowing.  He  sat  silent  and  waited. 
French  turned  to  the  index,  found  a  hymn,  and 
passed  it  over  to  Brown. 

"  Know  that  ?  "  he  asked,  clearing  his  throat. 

**  *  For  all  thy  saints  '  ?  Well,  rather,"  said  Brown. 
*'  Here,  Kalman,"  passing  it  to  the  boy,  "  can  you 
sing  this?  " 

"  I  have  heard  it,"  said  Kalman. 

"  This  is  a  favourite  of  yours,  French.?  "  enquired 
Brown. 

"  Yes  —  but  —  it  was  my  brother's  hjTnn.  Fif- 
teen years  ago  I  heard  him  sing  it." 

Brown  waited,  evidently  wishing  but  unwilling  to 
ask  a  question. 

"  He  died,"  said  French  softly,  "  fifteen  years  ago." 

"  Try  it,  Kalman,"  said  French. 

*'  Let  me  hear  it,"  said  the  boy. 

*'  Oh,  never  mind,"  said  French  hastily.  "  I  don't 
care  about  having  it  rehearsed  now." 

"  Sing  it  to  me,"  said  Kalman. 

Brown  sang  the  first  verse.     The  boy  listened  in- 
tently.    "  Yes,  I  can  sing  it,"  he  said  eagerly.     In 
the  second  verse  he  joined,  and  with  more  confidence^ 
in  the  third. 

"  There  now,"  said  Brown,  "  I  only  spoil  it.  You 
sing  the  rest.     Can  you  ?  " 

"  I  '11  try." 

Without  pause  or  faltering  Kalman  sang  the  next 
two  verses.    But  there  was  not  the  same  subtle  spirit- 


862  THE   FOREIGNER 

ual  interpretation.  He  was  occupied  with  the  music 
French  was  evidently  disappointed. 

"  Thank  you,  Kahnan,"  he  said ;  "  let  it  go  afe 
that." 

"  No,"  said  Brown,  "  let  me  read  it  to  you,  Kal- 
man.  You  are  not  singing  the  words,  you  are  sing- 
ing the  notes.     Now  listen, 

'  The  golden  evening  brightens  in  the  west ; 
Soon,  soon,  to  faithful  warriors  comes  their  rest; 
Sweet  is  the  calm  of  Paradise  the  blest. 
Hallelujah!' 

There  it  is.     Do  you  see  it.?  " 

The  boy  nodded. 

*'  Now  then,  sing,"  said  Brown. 

With  face  aglow  and  uplifted  to  the  western  sky 
the  boy  sang,  gaining  confidence  with  every  word, 
till  he  himself  caught  and  pictured  to  the  others  the 
vision  of  that  "  golden  evening."  When  he  came 
to  the  last  verse,  Brown  stopped  him. 

"  Wait,  Kalman,"  he  said.  "  Let  me  read  that 
for  you.  Or  better,  you  read  it,"  he  said,  passing 
French  the  book. 

French  took  the  book,  paused,  made  as  if  to  give 
it  back,  then,  as  if  ashamed  of  liis  hesitation,  began 
to  read  in  a  voice  quiet  and  thrilling  the  words 
of  immortal  vision. 

**From  earth's  wide  bounds,  from   ocean's   farthest 
coast. 
Through  gates   of  pearl  streams  in  the  countless 
host." 


BROWN  263 

But  before  the  close  liis  voice  shook,  and  ended  in 
a  husky  whisper.  Touched  by  the  strong  man's 
emotion,  the  boy  began  the  verse  in  tones  that  fal- 
tered. But  as  he  went  on  his  voice  came  to  him 
again,  and  with  a  deeper,  fuller  note  he  sang  the 
great  words, 

"  Singing  to  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost, 

Hallelujah!" 

With  the  spell  of  the  song  still  upon  them  Brown 
prayed  in  words  simple,  reverent,  and  honest,  with 
a  child's  confidence,  as  if  speaking  to  one  he  knew 
well.  Around  the  open  glade  with  its  three  wor- 
shippers breathed  the  silent  night,  above  it  shone 
ths  stars,  the  mysterious  stars,  but  nearer  than 
night,  and  nearer  than  the  stars,  seemed  God, 
listening  and  aware. 

Through  all  his  after  years  Kalman  would  look 
back  to  that  night  as  the  niffht  on  which  God  first 
became  to  him  something  other  than  a  name.  And 
to  French  that  evening  song  and  prayer  were  an 
echo  from  those  dim  and  sacred  shrines  of  memory 
where  dwelt  his  holiest  and  tcnderest  thoughts. 

Next  day.  Black  Joe,  tired  of  freedom,  wandered 
home,  to  the  great  joy  of  the  household. 


^64  THE   FOREIGNER 


CHAPTER    XIV 

THE    BREAK 

OPEN  your  letter,  Irma.  From  the  postmark, 
it  is  surely  from  Kalman.  And  what  good 
writing  it  is!     I  have  just  had  one  from  Jack." 

Mrs.  French  was  standing  in  the  cosy  kitchen  of 
Simon  Ketzel's  house,  where,  ever  since  the  tragic 
night  when  Kalman  had  been  so  nearly  done  to  death, 
Irma,  with  Paulina  and  her  child,  had  found  a  refuge 
and  a  home.  Simon  had  not  forgotten  his  oath  to 
his  brother,  Michael  Kalmar. 

Irma  stood,  letter  in  hand,  her  heart  in  a  tumult 
of  joy,  not  because  it  was  the  first  letter  she  had 
ever  received  in  her  life,  but  because  the  letter  was 
from  Kalman.  She  had  one  passion,  love  for  her 
brother.  For  him  she  held  a  strangely  mingled  af- 
fection of  mother,  sister,  lover,  all  in  one.  By  day 
she  thought  of  him,  at  night  he  filled  her  dreams. 
She  had  learned  to  pray  by  praying  for  Kalman. 

"  Are  n't  you  going  to  open  your  letter?  "  said  her 
friend,  rejoicing  in  her  joy. 

"  Yes,"  cried  the  girl,  and  ran  into  the  little  room 
which  she  shared  with  Paulina  and  her  child. 

Once  in  that  retreat,  she  threw  herself  on  her  knees 


THE   BREAK  265 

bj  the  bed,  put  the  letter  before  her,  and  pressed 
her  lips  hard  upon  it,  her  tears  wetting  it  as  she 
prayed  in  sheer  joy.  It  was  just  sixteen  months, 
one  week,  three  days,  and  nine  hours  since  she  had 
watched,  through  a  mist  of  tears,  the  train  carrying 
him  away  to  join  the  Macmillan  outfit  at  Portage  la 
Prairie.  Through  Jack  French's  letters  to  his  sister 
she  had  been  kept  in  close  touch  with  her  brother, 
but  this  was  his  first  letter  to  herself. 

How  she  laughed  and  wept  at  the  rude  construc- 
tion and  the  quaint  spelling,  for  the  letter  was  written 
in  her  native  tongue. 

"  My  sister,  my  Irma,  my  beloved,"  the  letter  ran. 
Irma  kissed  the  words  as  she  read  them.  "  How 
shall  I  ever  write  this  letter,  for  it  must  be  in  our 
own  beloved  tongue?  I  could  have  written  long  ago 
in  English,  but  with  you  I  must  write  as  I  speak, 
only  in  our  dear  mother's  and  father's  tongue.  It 
is  so  hard  to  remember  it,  for  everything  and  every 
one  about  me  is  English,  EngUsh,  English.  The 
hounds,  the  horses,  the  cattle  call  in  English,  the 
very  wind  sounds  English,  and  I  am  beginning  not 
only  to  speak,  but  to  think  and  feel  in  English,  ex- 
cept when  I  think  of  you  and  of  our  dear  mother 
and  father,  and  when  I  speak  with  old  Portnoff, 
an  old  Russian  nihilist,  in  the  colony  near  here,  and 
when  I  hear  him  tell  of  the  bad  old  daj^s,  then  I 
feel  and  breathe  Russian  again.  But  Russia  and  all 
that  old  Portnoff  talks  about  is  far  away  and  seems 
like  a  dream  of  a  year  ago.  It  is  old  Porhioff  who 
tauirht  me  how  to  write  in  Rus.sian, 


266  THE   FOREIGNER 

"  I  like  this  place,  and  oh !  I  like  Jack,  that  is, 
Mr.  French,  my  master.  He  told  me  to  call  him 
Jack.  He  is  so  big  and  strong,  so  kind  too,  never 
loses  his  temper,  that  is,  never  loses  hold  of  him- 
self like  me,  but  even  when  he  is  angry,  speaks  quietly 
and  always  smiles.  One  day  Elluck,  the  Galician 
man  that  works  here  sometimes,  struck  Blucher  with 
a  heavy  stick  and  made  him  howl.  Jack  heard  him. 
*  Bring  me  that  stick,  Elluck,'  he  said  quietly.  '  Now, 
Elluck,  who  strikes  my  dog,  strikes  me.'  He  caught 
him  by  the  collar  and  beat  him  until  Elluck  howled 
louder  than  the  dog,  and  all  the  while  Jack  never 
stopped  smiling.  He  is  teaching  me  to  box,  as  he 
says  that  no  gentleman  ever  uses  a  knife  or  a  club, 
as  the  Galicians  do,  in  fighting;  and  you  know  that 
when  they  get  beer  they  are  sure  to  fight,  and  if 
they  use  a  knife  they  will  kill  some  one,  and  then 
they  are  sorry. 

"  You  know  about  my  school.  Jack  has  told  Mrs. 
French.  I  like  Mr.  Brown,  well,  next  to  Jack.  He 
is  a  good  man.  I  wish  I  could  just  tell  you  how 
good  and  how  clever  he  is.  He  makes  people  to  work 
for  him  in  a  wonderful  way.  He  got  the  Galicians 
to  build  his  house  for  him,  and  his  school  and  his 
store.  He  got  Jack  to  help  him  too.  He  got  me  to 
help  Vv^ith  the  singing  in  the  school  every  day,  and  in 
the  afternoon  on  Sundays  when  we  go  down  to  meet- 
ing. He  is  a  Protestant,  but,  although  he  can  marry 
the  people  and  baptise  and  say  prayers  when  they 
desire  it,  I  do  not  think  he  is  a  priest,  for  he  will  take 
no  money  for  what  he  does.  Some  of  the  Galiciana 
say  he  will  make  them  all  pay  some  day,  but  Jack 
just  laughs  at  this  and  says  they  are  a  suspicious 
lot  of  fools.     Mr.  Brown  is  going  to  build  a  mill  to 


THE   BREAK  267 

grind  flour  and  meal.  Ke  brought  the  stones  from 
an  old  Hudson's  Bay  Company  mill  up  the  river,  and 
he  is  fixing  up  an  old  engine  from  a  sawmill  in  the 
hills.  I  think  he  wants  to  keep  the  people  from  going 
to  the  Crossing,  where  they  get  beer  and  whiskey 
and  get  drunk.  He  is  teaching  me  everything  that 
hliey  learn  in  the  English  schools,  and  he  gives  me 
books  to  read.  One  book  he  gave  me,  I  read  all  night. 
I  could  not  stop.  It  is  called  '  Ivanhoe.'  It  is  a 
splendid  book.  Perhaps  Mrs.  French  may  get  it  for 
you.  But  I  like  it  best  on  Sunday  afternoons,  for 
then  we  sing.  Brown  and  Jack  and  the  Galician 
children,  and  then  Brown  reads  the  Bible  and  prays. 
It  is  not  like  church  at  all.  There  is  no  crucifix,  no 
candles,  no  pictures.  It  is  too  much  like  every  day 
to  be  like  church,  but  Brown  says  that  is  the  best 
kind,  a  religion  for  every  day ;  and  Jack,  too,  says 
that  Brown  is  right,  but  he  won't  talk  much  about  it. 
"'  I  am  going  to  be  a  rancher.  Jack  says  I  am  a 
good  cattle  man  already.  He  gave  me  a  pony  and 
saddle  and  a  couple  of  heifers  for  myself,  that  I 
saved  last  winter  out  of  a  snow-drift,  and  he  says 
that  when  I  grow  a  little  bigger,  he  will  take  me  for 
his  partner.  Of  course,  he  smiles  when  he  says  this, 
but  I  think  he  means  it.  Would  not  that  be  splen- 
did? I  do  not  care  to  be  a  partner,  but  just  to  live 
with  Jack  always.  He  makes  every  one  do  what 
he  likes  because  they  love  him  and  they  are  afraid 
of  him  too.  Old  Mackenzie  would  let  him  walk  over 
his  body.  There  is  only  one  thing,  and  I  don't  like 
to  speak  of  it,  and  I  would  not  to  any  one  else,  but 
it  makes  me  sore  in  my  heart.  When  Jack  and  Old 
Mackenzie  go  to  the  Crossing,  they  bring  back 
whiskey,  and  until  it  is  done  they  have  a  terrible  time. 


268  THE   FOREIGNER 

You  know,  I  don't  mind  seeing  the  Galicians  drinK 
whiske}'  and  beer.  I  drink  it  myself  now  and  then. 
But  Jack  and  old  Mackenzie  just  sit  down  and  drink 
and  drink,  and  afterwards  I  know  Jack  feels  very 
bad.  Once  we  went  here  to  a  Galician  wedding,  and 
you  know  what  that  means.  They  all  got  drinking 
whiskey  and  beer,  and  then  we  had  a  terrible  time. 
The  whole  roomful  got  fighting.  They  were  all 
against  Jack  and  Mackenzie.  The  Galicians  had 
clubs  and  knives,  but  Jack  just  had  his  hands.  It 
was  fine  to  see  him  stand  up  and  Imock  those  Galicians 
back,  and  smiling  all  the  time.  Mackenzie  had  a 
hand-spike.  Of  course,  I  helped  a  httle  with  a  club. 
I  thought  they  were  going  to  kill  Jack.  We  got 
away  alive,  but  Jack  was  badly  hurt,  and  for  a  week 
afterwards  he  did  not  look  at  me.  Mackenzie  said 
he  was  ashamed,  but  I  don't  know  why.  He  made  a 
big  fight.  Mackenzie  says  he  did  not  like  to  fight 
with  '  them  dogs.'  Brown  heard  all  about  it  and  came 
to  see  Jack,  and  he  too  looked  ashamed  and  sorry. 
But  Brown  never  fights ;  no  matter  what  they  do  to 
him,  he  won't  fight ;  and  he  is  a  strong  man,  too,  and 
does  not  look  afraid. 

"  Have  you  heard  any  word  at  all  of  father.?  I 
sometimes  get  so  lonely  for  him  and  you.  I  used  to 
dream  I  was  back  with  you  again,  and  then  I  would 
wake  up  and  find  myself  alone  and  far  away.  It  will 
not  be  so  long  now  till  I  'm  a  man,  and  then  you  will 
come  and  live  with  me.  Oh!  I  cannot  write  fast 
enough  to  put  down  the  words  to  say  how  glad  I 
am  to  think  of  that.     But  some  day  that  will  be. 

"I  send  my  love  to  Simon  Ketzel  and  Lena  and 
Margaret,  and  you  tell  Mrs.  French  I  do  not  forget 
that  I  owe  all  I  have  here  to  her.     Tell  her  I  wish 


THE   BREAK  £69 

I  could  do  something  for  her.     Nothing  would  be 
too  hard. 

"  I  kiss  this  paper  for  you,  my  dear  sister,  my 
beloved  Irma. 

"  Your  loving  and  faithful  brother, 

"  Kalman." 

Proud  of  her  brother,  Irma  read  parts  of  her  letter 
to  her  friend,  leaving  out,  with  a  quick  sense  of  what 
was  fitting,  every  unhappy  reference  to  Jack  French ; 
but  the  little  lady  was  keen  of  ear  and  quick  of  in- 
stinct where  Jack  French  was  concerned,  and  Irma's 
pauses  left  a  deepening  shadow  upon  her  face.  When 
the  letter  was  done,  she  said :  "  Is  it  not  good  to  hear 
of  Kalman  doing  so  well.?  Tell  him  he  can  do  some- 
thing for  me.  He  can  grow  up  a  good  man,  and 
he  can  help  Jack  to  be  —  "  But  here  her  loj^al  soul 
held  her  back.  "  No,  don't  say  that,"  she  said ;  "  just 
tell  him  I  am  glad  to  know  he  is  going  to  be  a  good 
man.  There  is  nothing  I  want  more  for  those  I 
love  than  that.  Tell  him  too,"  she  added,  "  that  I 
would  like  him  and  Jack  to  help  Mr.  Brown  all  they 
can,"  and  this  message  Irma  wrote  to  Kalman  with 
'religious  care,  telling  him  too  how  sad  the  dear  sweet 
J  face  had  gro^vn  in  sending  the  message. 

But  when  Mrs.  French  reached  her  home,  she  read 
again  parts  out  of  the  letter  which  the  same  mail 
had  brought  her  from  the  Night  Hawk  Ranch,  read 
them  in  the  hght  of  Kalman's  letter,  while  the 
shadows  deepened  on  her  face. 


270  THE   FOREIGNER 

"  He  is  a  strange  little  beggar,"  she  read,  "  though, 
by  Jove,  he  is  little  no  longer.  He  is  somewhere 
about  sixteen,  is  away  past  my  shoulder,  and  nearly 
as  strong  as  I  am,  rides  like  a  cowboy,  and  is  as  good 
after  the  cattle  as  I  am,  is  afraid  of  nothing,  and 
dearly  loves  a  fight,  and,  I  regret  to  say,  he  gets  lots 
of  it,  for  the  Galicians  are  always  after  him  for  their 
feasts.  He  is  a  great  singer,  you  know,  and  dances 
much  too  well;  and  at  the  feasts,  as  I  suppose  you 
know  quite  well,  there  are  always  fights.  And  here 
I  want  to  consult  you.  I  very  nearly  sent  him  back 
to  you  a  little  while  ago,  not  for  his  fault,  but,  I 
regret  to  say,  for  mine.  We  went  to  a  fool  show 
among  the  Galicians,  and,  I  am  ashamed  to  say,  played 
the  fool.  There  was  the  deuce  of  a  row,  and  Mac- 
kenzie and  I  were  in  a  tight  box,  for  a  dozen  or  so  of 
our  Galician  friends  were  determined  upon  blood. 
They  got  some  of  mine  too,  for  they  were  using  their 
knives,  and,  I  am  bound  to  say,  it  looked  rather  seri- 
ous. At  this  juncture  that  young  beggar,  forget- 
ting all  my  good  training  in  the  manly  art,  and  re- 
verting to  his  Slavic  barbaric  methods  of  defence, 
went  in  with  a  hand-spike,  yelling,  and-  I  regret  to 
say,  cursing,  till  I  thought  he  had  gone  drunk  or 
mad.  Drunk,  he  was  not,  but  mad,  —  well,  he  was 
possessed  of  some  kind  of  demon  none  too  gentle  that 
night.  I  must  acknowledge  it  was  a  good  thing  for 
us,  and  though  I  hate  to  think  of  the  whole  ghastly 
business,  it  was  something  fine,  though,  to  see  him 
raging  up  and  down  that  room,  taunting  them  for 
cowards,  hurling  defiance,  and,  by  Jove,  looking  all 
the  while  like  some  Greek  god  in  cowboy  outfit,  if 
your  imagination  can  get  that.  I  am  telling  you  the 
whole  sickening  story,  because  I  must  treat  you  witii 


THE   BREAK  271 

perfect  sincerity.  I  assure  you  next  morning  I  was 
sick  enough  of  myself  and  my  useless  life,  sick  enough 
to  have  done  with  the  unhappy  and  disgraceful  farce 
of  living,  but  for  your  sake  and  for  the  boy's  too,  I 
could  n't  play  the  cad,  and  so  I  continue  to  live. 

"  But  I  have  come  to  the  opinion  that  he  ought  not 
to  stay  with  me.  As  I  said  before,  he  is  a  splendid 
chap  in  many  ways,  but  I  am  afraid  in  these  sur- 
roundings he  will  go  bad.  He  is  clean  as  yet,  I  firmly 
believe,  thank  God,  but  with  this  Colony  near  us  with 
their  low  standard  of  morality,  and  to  be  quite  sin- 
cere, in  the  care  of  such  a  man  as  I  am,  the  boy  stands 
a  poor  chance.  I  know  this  will  grieve  you,  but  it 
is  best  to  be  honest.  I  think  he  ought  to  go  to  you. 
I  must  refuse  responsibility  for  his  remaining  here. 
I  feel  like  a  beast  in  saying  this,  but  whatever  shred 
of  honour  is  left  me  forces  me  to  say  it." 

In  the  postscript  there  was  a  word  that  brought 
not  a  little  hope  and  comfort.  "One  tiling  in  addi- 
tion. No  more  Galician  festivals  for  me.'*  It  was 
a  miserably  cruel  letter,  and  it  did  its  miserably 
cruel  work  on  the  heart  of  the  little  white-faced  lady. 
She  laid  the  letter  down,  drew  from  a  box  upon  her 
table  a  photo,  and  laid  it  before  her.  It  was  of  two 
young  men  in  football  garb,  in  all  the  glorious  pride 
of  their  3''oung  manhood.  Long  she  gazed  upon  it 
till  she  could  see  no  more,  and  then  went  to  pray. 

It  took  Irma  some  days  of  thought  and  effort  to 
prepare  the  answer  to  her  letter,  for  to  her,  as  to 
Kalman,  English  had  become  easier  than  her  native 
Russian.     To  Jack  French  a  reply  went  by  return 


272  THE   FOREIGNER 

mail.  It  was  not  long,  but,  as  Jack  French  read,  the 
easy  smile  vanished,  and  for  days  he  carried  in  his 
face  the  signs  of  the  remorse  and  grief  that  gnawed 
at  his  heart.  Then  he  rode  alone  to  Wakota  to  take 
counsel  with  his  friend  Brown. 

As  he  read,  one  phrase  kept  repeating  itself  in 
his  mind :  "  The  responsibility  of  leaving  Kalman 
with  you,  I  must  take.  What  else  can  I  do?  I 
have  no  other  to  help  me.  But  the  responsibility 
for  what  you  make  liim,  you  must  take.  God  puts 
it  on  you,  not  I." 

"  The  responsibility  for  making  him  is  not  mine," 
he  said  to  himself  impatiently.  "  I  can  teach  him 
a  lot  of  things,  but  I  can't  teach  him  morals.  That 
is  Brov/n's  business.  He  is  a  preacher.  If  he  can't 
do  this,  what 's  he  good  for.^*  " 

And  so  he  argued  the  matter  with  himself  with 
great  diligence,  and  even  with  considerable  heat  of 
mind.  He  made  no  pretence  to  goodness.  He  was 
no  saint,  nor  would  he  set  up  for  one.  All  who 
knew  him  knew  this,  and  none  better  than  Kalman. 

"  I  may  not  be  a  saint,  but  I  am  no  hypocrite, 
neither  will  I  play  the  part  for  any  one."  In  this 
thought  his  mind  took  eager  refuge,  and  he  turned 
it  over  in  various  phrases  with  increasing  satisfac- 
tion. He  remembered  with  some  anxiety  that  Brown's 
mental  processes  were  to  a  degree  lacking  in  sub- 
tlety. Brown  had  a  disconcertingly  simple  and  direct 
method  of  dealing  with  the  most  complex  problems. 


THE   BREAK  27g> 

If  a  thing  was  right,  it  was  right;  if  wrong,  it  wa& 
wrong,  and  that  settled  the  matter  with  Brown. 
There  was  little  room  for  arguriient,  and  none  for 
compromise.  "  He  has  a  deucedly  awkward  con- 
science too,"  said  Jack  French,  "  and  it  is  apt  to 
get  working  long  shifts."  Would  he  show  his  sister- 
in-law's  letter.^  It  might  be  good  tactics,  but  that 
last  page  would  not  help  him  much,  and  besides  he 
shrank  from  introducing  her  name  into  the  argument. 

As  he  approached  Wakota,  he  was  impatient  with 
himself  that  he  was  so  keenly  conscious  of  the  need 
of  arguments  to  support  his  appeal.  He  rode 
straight  to  the  school,  and  was  surprised  to  find 
Brown  sitting  there  alone,  with  a  shadow  on  his 
usually  cheery  face. 

"  Hello,  Brown !  "  he  cried,  as  he  entered  the  build- 
ing, "  another  holiday,  eh !  Seems  to  me  you  get 
more  than  your  share." 

"  No,"  said  Brown,  "  it  is  not  hohdays  at  all. 
It  is  a  breaking  up." 

"  What 's  the  row,  epidemic  of  measles  or  some- 
thing.? » 

"  I  only  wish  it  were,"  said  Brown ;  "  small-pox 
would  not  be  too  bad."  Brown's  good-natured  face 
was  smiling,  but  his  tone  told  of  gloom  in  his  heart. 

"What's   up.  Brown?"  asked  French. 

"  I  'm  blue,  I  'm  depressed,  I  'm  in  a  funk.     It  i» 

my  constitutional  weakness  that  I  cannot  stand  —  '* 

"  Oh,  let  it  go  at  that,  Brown,  and  get  on  witli 
18 


274  THE   FOREIGNER 

the  facts.  But  come  out  into  the  light,  Tliat  ',s  the 
thing  that  makes  me  fear  that  something  has  really 
happened  that  you  are  moping  here  inside.  Nothing 
wrong  in  the  home  I  hope,  Brown ;  wife  and  baby 
well.''  "  said  French,  his  tone  becoming  more  kind 
and  gentle. 

"  No,  not  a  thing,  thank  God !  both  fine  and  fit," 
said  Brown,  as  they  walked  out  of  the  school  and 
down  the  river  path.  "  My  school  has  folded  itself 
up,  and,  like  the  Arab,  has  stolen  away." 

"  Go  on  with  your  yarn.  What  has  struck  your 
school?  " 

"  A  Polish  priest,  small  and  dark  and  dirty ;  he 
can't  help  the  first  two,  but  with  the  Eagle  River 
running  through  the  country,  he  might  avoid  the 
last." 

"What  is  he  up  to?" 

"  I  wish  I  knew.  He  introduced  himself  by  order- 
ing, upon  pain  of  hell  fire,  that  no  child  attend 
my  school ;  consequently,  not  a  Galician  child  has 
shown  up." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  —  quit?  " 

"  Quit?  "  shouted  Brown,  springing  to  his  feet. 

^  I  apologize,"  said  French  hastily ;  "  I  ought  to 
have  known  better." 

"  No,  I  am  not  going  to  quit,"  said  Brown,  re- 
covering his  quiet  manner.  "  If  he  wants  the  school, 
and  will  undertake  to  run  it,  why,  I  '11  give  hira  the 
building  and  the  outfit." 


THE    BREAK  275 

"  But,"  said  French,  "  is  n't  that  rather  funk- 
ing it?" 

"  Not  a  bit"  said  Brown  emphatically.  "  I  am  not 
sent  here  to  proselytize.  My  church  is  not  in  that 
business.  We  are  doing  business,  but  we  are  in  the 
business  of  making  good  citizens.  We  tried  to  get 
the  Government  to  estabhsh  schools  among  the  Gali- 
cians.  The  Government  dechned.  We  took  it  up, 
and  hence  this  school.  We  tried  to  get  Greek  Catho- 
lic priests  from  Europe  to  look  after  the  religion 
and  morals  of  these  people.  We  absolutely  failed 
to  get  a  decent  man  to  offer.  Remember,  I  say 
decent  man.  We  had  offers,  plenty  of  them,  but 
we  could  not  lay  our  hands  on  a  single,  clean,  honest- 
minded  man  with  the  fear  of  God  in  his  heart,  and 
the  desire  to  help  these  people.  So,  as  I  say,  we 
will  give  this  man  a  fair  chance,  and  if  he  makes 
good,  I  will  back  him  up  and  say,  *  God  bless  you.' 
But  he  won't  make  good,"  added  Brown  gloomily, 
"  from  the  way  he  starts  out." 

French  waited,  and  Brown  went  on.  "  He  was 
called  to  marry  a  couple  the  other  day,  got  hope- 
lessly drunk,  charged  them  ten  dollars,  and  they  are 
not  sure  whether  they  are  married  or  not.  Last  Sun- 
day he  drummed  the  people  up  to  confession.  It 
was  a  long  time  since  they  had  had  a  chance,  and 
they  were  glad  to  come.  He  charged  them  two 
dollars  apiece,  tried  to  make  it  five,  but  failed,  and 
now    he    introduces   himself    to    me    by    closing   my 


276  THE   FOREIGNER 

school.  He  may  mean  well,  but  his  methods  would 
bear  improrement.  However,  as  I  have  said,  we  will 
give  him  a  chance." 

"  And  meantime?  "  enquired  French. 

"  Meantime  ?  Oh !  I  shall  stick  to  my  pills  and 
plasters,  — ■  we  have  ten  patients  in  the  hospital  now, 
—  run  the  store  and  the  mill,  and  try  to  help  gen- 
erally. If  this  priest  gets  at  his  work  and  makes 
good,  I  promise  you  I  '11  not  bother  him." 

"And  if  not.?"   enquired  French. 

"  If  not.f^  Well,  then,"  said  Brown,  sinking  back 
into  his  easy,  good-natured  manner,  "  you  see,  I  am 
constitutionally  indolent.  I  would  rather  he  'd  move 
out  than  I,  and  so  while  the  colony  stays  here,  it 
will  be  much  easier  for  me  to  stay  than  to  go.  And," 
he  added,  "  I  shall  get  back  my  school,  too." 

French  looked  at  him  admiringly.  Brown's  lips 
had  come  together  in  a  straight  line. 

*'  By  George !  I  believe  you,"  exclaimed  French, 
"  and  I  think  I  see  the  finish  of  the  Polish  gentle- 
man.    Can  I  help  you  out.?  " 

'^  I  do  not  know,"  said  Brown,  "  but  Kalman  can. 
I  want  him  to  do  some  interpreting  for  me  some  of 
these  days.  By  the  way,  where  is  he  to-day.?  He 
is  not  with  you." 

French's  face  changed.  "  That  reminds  me,"  he 
said,  "  but  I  hate  to  unload  my  burden  on  you 
to-day  when  you  have  got  your   own." 

**  Do  not  hesitate,"  said  Brown,  with  a  return  of 


THE   BREAK  9n 

his  cheery  manner ;  "  another  fellow's  burden  helps 
to  balance  one's  own.  You  know  I  am  constitution- 
ally selfish  and  get  thinking  far  too  much  of  myself, 
—  habit  of  mine,  bad  habit." 

"  You  go  to  thunder,  Brown,  with  your  various 
and  many  constitutional  weaknesses.  When  I  look 
at  you  and  your  work  for  this  thankless  horde  I 
feel  something  of  a  useless  brute." 

**  Hold  up  there,  now,  don't  you  abuse  my  parish- 
ioners. They  are  a  perfectly  good  lot  if  left  alone. 
They  are  awfully  grateful,  and,  yes,  in  many  wajw 
they  are  a  good  lot." 

"  Yes,  a  jolly  lot  of  quitters  they  are.  They  hai^ 
quit  you  dead." 

Brown  winced.  "  Let  us  up  on  that  spot,  French," 
he  said.  "  It  is  a  little  raw  yet.  What '«  your 
trouble.?" 

"  Well,"  said  French,  "  I  hardly  know  how  to 
begin.     It  is  Kalman."     At  once  Brown  was  alert. 

"Sick?" 

"  Oh !  no,  not  he.  Fit  as  a  fiddle ;  but  the  fact 
is  he  is  not  doing  just  as  well  as  he  ought." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  Brown  anxiously. 

"  Well,  he  is  growing  up  into  a  big  chap,  you 
know,  getting  towards  sixteen,  and  pretty  much  of 
a  man  in  many  ways,  and  while  he  is  a  fine,  clean, 
straight  boy  and  all  that,  he  is  not  just  what  I 
would   like." 

**  None  of  us  are,"  said  Brown  quietly. 


278  THE    FOREIGNER 

"  True,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,"  replied  French. 
"  I  do  not  know  about  you.  But  to  go  on.  The 
boy  has  got  a  fiendish  temper  and,  on  slight  provo- 
cation, he  is  into  a  fight  like  a  demon." 

"  With  you  ?  "  said  Brown. 

"  Oh,  come,"  said  French,  "  you  know  better  than 
that.  No,  he  gets  with  those  Galicians,  and  then 
there  is  a  row.  The  other  week,  now  —  well  —  " 
French  was  finding  it  difficult  to  get  on. 

"  I  heard  about  it,"  said  Brown ;  "  they  told  me 
the  boy  was  half  drunk,  and  you  more."  Brown's 
tone  was  not  encouraging. 

"  You  've  hit  it,  Brown,  and  that 's  the  sort  of 
thing  that  makes  me  anxious.  The  boy  is  getting 
into  brd  ways,  and  I  thought  you  might  take  him 
in  hand.  I  cannot  help  him  much  in  these  matters, 
and  you  can." 

French's  arguments  had  all  deserted  him. 

"  Look  here,"  he  said  at  length  desperately,  "  here 
is  a  letter  which  I  got  a  few  days  ago.  I  want  you 
to  read  that  last  page.  It  will  show  you  my  diffi- 
culty. It  is  from  my  sister-in-law,  and,  of  course, 
her  position  is  quite  preposterous ;  but  you  know 
a  woman  finds  it  difficult  to  understand  some  things 
in  a  man's  life.  You  know  what  I  mean,  but  read. 
I  think  you  know  who  she  is.  It  was  she  who  sent 
Kalman  out  here  to  save  him  from  going  wrong. 
Ood  save  the  mark !  " 

Brown  took  the  letter  and  read  it  carefully,  read 
it  a  second  time,  and  then  said  simply: 


THE    BREAK  279 

"  That  seems  straight  enough.  That  woman  sees 
her  way  through  things.     But  what 's  the  trouble.?  '* 

"  Well,  of  course,  it  is  quite  absurd." 

"  What 's  absurd.''  "  asked  Brown  shortly.  "  Your 
responsibility  .f*  " 

"  Hold  on,  now,  Brown,"  he  said.  "  I  do  not 
want  you  to  miss  my  point  of  view." 

"  All  right,  let 's  have  it,"  said  Brown ;  and  French 
plunged  at  once  at  his  main  argument,  adopting 
with  great  effort  the  judicial  tone  of  a  man  deter- 
mined to  examine  dispassionately  on  the  data  at 
command. 

"  You  see,  she  does  not  know  me,  has  not  seen 
me  for  fifteen  years,  and  I  am  afraid  she  thinks  I 
am  a  kind  of  saint.  Now,  you  know  better,"  Brown 
nodded  his  assent  with  his  eyes  steadily  on  the  other's 
face,  "  and  I  know  better,  and  I  am  not  going  to 
play  the  hypocrite  for  any  man." 

"  Quite  right,"  said  Brown ;  "  she  does  not  ask 
you  to." 

"  So  it  is  there  I  want  you  to  help  me  out." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Brown,  "  count  on  me  for  all 
I  can  do.  But  that  does  not  touch  the  question 
so  far  as  I  can  see  it,  even  remotely." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  a  question  of  what  I  am  to  do  in  the 
matter." 

"  What  can  I  do .''  "  cried  French,  losing  his  j  udi- 
eial  tone.     "  Do  you  think  I  am  going  to  accept  the 


«8e  THE   FOREIGNER 

role  of  moral  preceptor  to  that  youth  and  play  th« 
hypocrite  ?  " 

"  Who  asks  you  to  ?  "  said  Brown,  with  a  touch 
of  scorn.     "  Be  honest  in  the  matter." 

"  Oh,  come  now,  Brown,  let  us  not  chop  words. 
Look  at  the  thing  reasonably.  I  came  for  help  and 
not  —  " 

"  Count  on  me  for  all  the  help  I  can  give,"  said 
Brown  promptly,  "  but  let 's  look  at  your  part." 

"  Well,"  said  French,  "  we  will  divide  up  on  this 
thing.  I  will  undertake  to  look  after  the  boy's 
physical  and  —  well  —  secular  interests,  if  you  like. 
I  will  teach  him  to  ride,  shoot,  box,  and  handle  the 
work  on  the  ranch,  in  short,  educate  him  in  things 
practical,  while  you  take  charge  of  his  moral 
training." 

"  In  other  words,  when  it  comes  to  morals,  you 
want  to  shirk." 

French  flushed  quickly,  but  controlled  himself. 
"  Excuse  me,  Brown,"  he  said,  in  a  quiet  tone. 
"  I  came  to  talk  this  over  with  you  as  a  friend,  but 
if  you  do  not  want  to  —  " 

"  Old  man,  I  apologize  for  the  tone  I  used  just 
'now,  but  I  foresee  that  this  is  going  to  be  serious. 
I  can  see  as  clearly  as  light  what  I  ought  to  say  to 
you  now.  There  is  something  in  my  heart  that  I 
have  been  wanting  to  say  for  months,  but  I  hate 
to  say  it,  and  I  won't  say  it  now  unless  you  teU 
me  tOo" 


THE   BREAK  281 

The  two  men  were  standing  face  to  face  as  if 
measuring  each  other's  strength. 

"  Go  on,"  said  French  at  length ;  "  what  are  you 
afraid  of?  "     His  tone  was  unfortunate. 

"  Afraid,"  said  Brown  quickly,  "  not  of  you,  but 
of  myself."  He  paused  a  few  moments,  as  if  taking 
counsel  with  himself,  then,  with  a  sudden  resolve, 
he  spoke  in  tones  quiet,  deliberate,  and  almost  stern. 
"  First,  be  clear  about  this,"  he  said ;  "  I  stand  ready 
to  help  you  with  Kalman  to  the  limit  of  my  power, 
and  to  assure  you  to  the  full  my  share  of  responsi- 
bility for  his  moral  training.  Now  then,  what  of 
jour  part  in  this.?  " 

"  Why,  I  —  " 

"  But  wait,  hear  me  out.  For  good  or  for  evil, 
you  have  that  boy's  life  in  your  hands.  Did  you 
ever  notice  how  he  rides,  —  his  style,  I  mean?  It  is 
yours.  How  he  walks?  Like  you.  His  very  tricks 
of  speech  are  yours.  And  how  else  could  it  be? 
He  adores  you,  you  know  that.  He  models  himself 
after  you.  And  so,  mark  me,  without  either  of  you 
knowing  it,  you  zmll  make  him  in  spite  of  yourself 
and  in  spite  of  him.  And  it  is  your  fate  to  make 
him  after  your  own  type.  Wait,  French,  let  me 
finish."  Brown's  easy  good  nature  was  gone,  his 
face  was  set  and  stern.  "  You  ask  me  to  teach  him 
morals.  The  fact  is,  we  are  both  teaching  him. 
From  whom,  do  you  think,  will  he  take  his  lesson? 
What  a  ghastly  farce  the  thing  is !    Listen,  while  the 


282  THE   FOREIGNER 

teaching  goes  on.  '  Kalman,'  I  say,  '  don't  drinlc 
whiskey;    it    is    a    beastly    and    degrading    habit.' 

*  Fudge ! '  he  says,  '  Jack  drinks  whiskey,  and  so  will 
I.'    '  Kalman,'  I  urge,  '  don't  swear.'    '  Rot,'  says  he, 

*  Jack  swears.'  '  Kalman,  be  a  man,  straight,  self- 
controlled,  honourable,  unselfish.'  The  answer  is,  — 
but  no !  the  answer  never  will  be,  — '  Jack  is  a 
drunken,  swearing,  selfish,  reckless  man ! '  No,  for 
he  loves  you.  But  like  you  he  will  be,  in  spite  of 
all  I  can  say  or  do.  That  is  your  curse  for  the  life 
you  are  leading.  Responsibility?  God  help  you. 
Read  your  letter  again.  That  woman  sees  clearly. 
It  is  God's  truth.  Listen,  '  The  responsibility  for 
what  you  make  him  you  must  take.  God  puts  it 
there,  not  I.'  You  may  refuse  this  responsibility, 
you  may  be  too  weak,  too  wilful,  too  selfish  to  set 
upon  your  own  wicked  indulgence  of  a  foolish  ap- 
petite, but  the  responsibility  is  there,  and  no  hving 
man  or  woman  can  take  it  from  you." 

French  stood  silent  for  some  moments.  "  Thank 
you,"  he  said,  "  you  have  set  my  sins  before  me,  and 
I  will  not  try  to  hide  them ;  but  by  the  Eternal,  not 
for  you  or  for  any  man,  will  I  be  anything  but 
myself." 

"What  kind  of  self.?"  enquired  Brown.  "Beast 
or  man.?  " 

"  That  is  not  the  question,"  said  French  hotly.  "  I 
will  be  no  hypocrite,  as  you  would  have  me  be." 

"  Jack  French,"  said  Brown,  "  you  know  you  are 
speaking  a  lie  before  God  and  man." 


THE   BREAK  28S 

French  stepped  quickly  towards  him. 

"  Brown,  you  will  have  to  apologize,"  he  said  in 
a  low,  tense  voice,  "  and  quick." 

"  French,  I  will  apologize  if  what  I  have  said  is 
not  true." 

"  I  cannot  discuss  it  with  you.  Brown,"  said  French, 
his  voice  thick  with  rage.  "  I  allow  no  man  to  call 
me  a  liar;    put  up  your  hands." 

"  If  you  are  a  man,  French,"  said  Brown  with 
equal  calm,  "  give  me  a  minute.  Read  your  letter 
again.  Does  she  ask  you  to  be  a  hypocrite?  Does 
she  not,  do  I  not,  only  ask  you  to  be  a  man,  and  to 
act  like  a  man.?  " 

"  It  won't  do.  Brown.  It  is  past  argument.  You 
gave  me  the  lie." 

"  French,  I  wish  to  apologize  for  what  I  said  just 
now,"  said  Brown.  "  I  said  you  knew  you  were 
speaking  a  lie.  I  take  that  back,  and  apologize.  I 
cannot  believe  you  knew.  All  the  same,  what  you 
said  was  not  the  truth.  No  one  asks  you,  nor  does 
that  letter  ask  you,  to  be  a  hypocrite.  You  said  I 
did.  That  was  not  true.  Now,  if  you  wish  to  slap 
^  my  face,  go  on." 

French  stood  motionless.  His  rage  well-nigh  over- 
powered him,  but  he  knew  this  man  was  speaking  the 
truth.  For  some  moments  they  stood  face  to  face. 
Then,  impulsively  offering  his  hand,  and  with  a  quick 
change  of  voice,  Brown  said,  "  I  am  awfully  sorryj 
French ;    let 's  forget  it." 


284  THE   FOREIGNER 

But  ignoring  the  outstretched  hand,  French  turned 
from  him  without  a  word,  mounted  his  horse,  and 
rode  away. 

Brown  stood  watching  him  until  he  was  out  of 
sight.  "  My  God,  forgive  me,"  he  cried,  "  what  a 
mess  I  made  of  that!  I  have  lost  him  and  the  boy 
too ;  "  and  with  that  he  passed  into  the  woods,  com- 
ing home  to  his  wife  and  baby  late  at  night,  weary, 
spent,  and  too  sad  for  speech  or  sleep. 


THE  MAIDEN   OF  THE   BROWN   HAIR     28« 


CHAPTER    XV 

THE  MAIDEN  OF  THE  BROWN  HAHt, 

RUMOURS  of  the  westward  march  of  civilization 
had  floated  from  time  to  time  up  the  country 
from  the  main  line  as  far  as  the  Crossing,  and  had 
penetrated  even  to  the  Night  Hawk  ranch,  only  to 
be  allayed  by  succeeding  rumours  of  postponement 
of  the  advance  for  another  year. 

It  was  Mackenzie  who  brought  word  of  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  first  bond  fide  scout  of  the  advancing 
host. 

"  There  was  a  man  with  a  bit  flag  over  the  Creek 
jponder,"  ho  announced  one  spring  evening,  while  the 
snow  was  still  lying  In  the  hollows,  "  and  another 
man  with  a  stick  or  something,  and  two  or  three 
behind  him." 

"  Ah,  ha ! "  exclaimed  French,  "  surveyors,  no 
doubt ;    they  have  come  at  last." 

"  And  what  will  that  be  ?  "  said  Mackenzie  anxiously. 

"The  men  who  lay  out  the  route  for  the  rail- 
road,"  replied  French. 

Mackenzie  looked  glum.  "  And  will  they  be 
putting  a  railroad  across  our  ranch.? "  he  asked 
indignantly. 


286  THE   FOREIGNER 

"  Right  across,"  said  French,  "  and  just  where 
it  suits  them." 

"  Indeed,  and  it  would  n't  be  my  land  they  would 
be  putting  that  railroad  over,  I  '11  warrant  ye." 

"  You  could  not  stop  them,  Mack,"  said  French ; 
*'  they  have  got  the  whole  Government  behind  them." 

"  I  would  be  putting  some  slugs  into  them,  what- 
effer,"  said  Mackenzie.  "  There  will  be  no  room  in 
the  country  any  more,  and  no  sleeping  at  night  for 
the  noise  of  them  injins." 

Mackenzie  was  right.  That  surveyor's  flag  was 
the  sig-nal  that  waved  out  the  old  order  and  waved 
in  the  new.  The  old  free  life,  the  only  life  Mac- 
kenzie knew,  where  each  man's  will  was  his  law,  and 
where  law  was  enforced  by  the  strength  of  a  man's 
right  hand,  was  gone  forever  from  the  plains.  Those 
great  empty  spaces  of  rolling  prairie,  swept  bj 
viewless  winds,  were  to  be  filled  up  now  with  the 
abodes  of  men.  Mackenzie  and  his  world  must  now 
disappear  in  the  wake  of  the  red  man  and  the  buf- 
falo before  the  railroad  and  the  settler.  To  Jack 
French  the  invasion  brought  mingled  feelings.  He 
hated  to  surrender  the  untrammelled,  unconventional 
mode  of  life,  for  which  twenty  years  ago  he  had  left 
an  ancient  and,  as  it  seemed  to  his  adventurous  spirit, 
a  worn-out  civilization,  but  he  was  quick  to  recog- 
nize, and  in  his  heart  was  glad  to  welcome,  a  change 
that  would  mean  new  life  and  assured  prosperity  to 
Kalman,  whom  he  had  come  to  love  as  a  son.     T» 


THE  MAIDEN   OF  THE   BROWN   IL\IR     287 

Kalman  that  surveyor's  flag  meant  the  opening  up 
of  a  new  world,  a  new  life,  rich  in  promise  of  ad- 
venture and  achievement.  French  noticed  his  glow- 
ing face  and  eyes. 

"  Yes,  Kalman,  boy,"  he  said,  "  It  will  be  a  great 
thing  for  you,  great  for  the  country.  It  means 
towns  and  settlements,  markets  and  money,  and  all 
the  rest" 

"  We  will  have  no  trouble  selling  our  potatoes  and 
our  oats  now,"  said  the  boy. 

*'  Not  a  bit,"  said  French ;  "  we  could  sell  ten  times 
what  we  have  to  sell." 

"And  why  not  get  ten  times  the  stuff?"  cried 
the  boy. 

French  shrugged  his  shoulders.  It  was  hard  to 
throw  off  the  old  laissez  faire  of  the  pioneer. 

"  All  right,  Kalman,  you  go  on.  I  will  give  you 
a  free  hand.  Mackenzie  and  I  will  back  you  up; 
only  don't  ask  too  much  of  us.  There  will  be  hun- 
dreds of  teams  at  work  here  next  year." 

"  One  hundred  teams !  "  exclaimed  Kalman.  "  How 
much  oats  do  you  think  they  will  need.''  One  thou- 
sand bushels  ?  " 

"  One  thousand !  yes,  ten  thousand,  twenty 
thousand." 

Kalman  made  a  rapid  calculation. 

"  Why,  that  would  mean  three  hundred  acres  of 
oats  at  least,  and  we  have  only  twenty  acres  in  our 
field.     Oh !    Jack !  "  he  continued,  "  let  us  get  everjr 


288  THE    FOREIGNER 

horse  and  every  man  we  can,  and  make  ready  for 
the  oats.  Just  think!  one  hundred  acres  of  oats, 
five  or  six  thousand  bushels,  perhaps  more,  besides 
the  potatoes." 

"  Oh,  well,  they  won't  be  along  to-day,  Kalman, 
60  keep  cool." 

"  But  we  will  have  to  break  this  year  for  next," 
said  the  boy,  "  and  it  will  take  us  a  long  time  to 
break  one  hundred  acres." 

"  That 's  so,"  said  Jack ;  "  it  will  take  all  our 
forces  hard  at  it  all  summer  to  get  one  hundred 
acres  ready." 

Eagerly  the  boy's  mind  sprang  forward  into 
plans  for  the  summer's  campaign.  His  enthusiasm 
stirred  French  to  something  like  vigorous  action, 
and  even  waked  old  Mackenzie  out  of  his  aboriginal 
lethargy.  That  very  day  Kalman  rode  down  to 
Wakota  to  consult  his  friend  Brown,  upon  whose 
guidance  in  all  matters  he  had  come  more  and  more 
to  depend.  Brown's  Canadian  training  on  an  On- 
tario farm  before  he  entered  college  had  greatly  en- 
riched his  experience,  and  his  equipment  for  the 
battle  of  life.  He  knew  all  about  farming  opera- 
tions, and  to  him,  rather  than  to  French  or  to 
Mackenzie,  Kalman  had  come  to  look  for  advice  on 
all  practical  details  connected  with  cattle,  horses, 
and  crops.  The  bi'each  between  the  two  men  was 
an  unspeakable  grief  to  the  lad,  and  all  the  greater 
because  he  had  an  instinctive  feehng  that  the  fault 


THE  MAIDEN  OF  THE  BROWN  HAHl     289 

lay  with  the  man  to  whom  from  the  first  he  had 
given  the  complete  and  unswerving  devotion  of  his 
heart.  Without  explaining  to  Kalman,  French  had 
suddenly  ceased  his  visits  to  Wakota,  but  he  had 
taken  care  to  indicate  his  desire  that  Kalman  con- 
tinue his  studies  with  Brown,  and  that  he  should 
assist  him  in  every  way  possible  with  the  work  he 
was  seeking  to  carry  on  among  the  Galicians.  This 
desire  both  Brown  and  Kalman  were  only  too  eager 
io  gratify,  for  the  two  had  grown  into  a  friendship 
that  became  a  large  part  of  the  lives  of  both. 
Every  Sunday  Kalman  was  to  be  found  at  Wakota. 
There,  in  the  hospitable  home  of  the  Browns,  he  came 
into  contact  with  a  phase  of  life  new  and  delightful 
to  him.  Brown's  wife,  and  Brown's  baby,  and  Brown's 
home  were  to  him  never-ending  sources  of  wonder 
and  joy.  That  French  was  shut  out  from  all  this 
was  the  abiding  grief  of  Kalman's  life,  and  this 
grief  was  emphasized  by  the  all-too-evident  effect 
of  this  exclusion.  For  with  growing  frequency 
French  would  ride  off  on  Sunday  afternoon  to  the 
Crossing,  and  often  stay  for  three  or  four  days  at 
a  time.  On  such  occasions  life  would  be  to  Kalman 
one  long  agony  of  anxiety.  Through  the  summer 
he  bore  his  grief  in  silence,  never  speaking  of  it 
even  to  Brown ;  but  on  one  occasion,  when  French's 
absence  had  been  extended  from  one  Sunday  to  the 
next,  his  anxiety  and  grief  became  unsupportable, 
and  he  poured  it  forth  to  Brown. 

19 


290  THE   FOREIGNER 

"  He  has  not  been  home  for  a  week,  Mr.  Brown, 
and  oh!  I  can't  stand  it  any  longer,"  cried  the  dis- 
tracted boy.  "  I  can't  stay  here  while  Jack  is  over 
there  in  such  a  terrible  way.     I  must  go  to  him." 

"  He  won't  like  it,  Kalman,"  said  Brown ;  "  he 
won't  stand  it,  I  am  afraid.  I  would  go,  but  I  know 
it  would  only  offend  him." 

"  I  am  going  down  to  the  Crossing  to-day,"  said 
Kalman.     "  I  don't  care  if  he  kills  me,  I  must  go." 

But  his  experience  was  such  that  he  never  went 
again,  for  Jack  French  in  his  madness  nearly  killed 
the  boy,  who  was  brought  sadly  battered  to  Brown's 
hospital,  where  he  lay  for  a  week  or  rnore.  Every 
day,  French,  penetrated  with  penitence,  visited  him, 
lavishing  on  the  boy  a  new  tenderness.  But  when 
Kalman  was  on  his  feet  again,  F'rench  laid  it  upon 
him,  and  bound  him  by  a  solemn  promise  that  he 
should  never  again  follow  him  to  the  Crossing,  or 
interfere  when  he  was  not  master  of  himself.  It 
was  a  hard  promise  to  give,  but  once  given,  that 
settled  the  matter  for  both.  With  Brown  he  never 
discussed  Jack  French's  weakness,  but  every  Sunday 
afternoon,  when  in  his  own  home  Brown  prayed  for 
friends  near  and  dear,  committing  them  into  the 
Heavenly  Father's  keeping,  in  their  minds,  chiefly 
and  before  all  others  was  the  man  whom  they  had 
all  come  to  love  as  an  elder  brother,  and  for  whose 
redemption  they  were  ready  to  lay  down  their  lives. 
And  this  was  the  strongest  strand  in  the  bond  that 


THE   MAIDEN   OF  THE   BROT\^   HAHl     291 

bound  Kalman  and  his  friend  together.  So  to  Brown 
Kaknan  went  with  his  plans  for  the  coming  summer, 
and  with  most  happy  results.  For  through  the 
spring  and  summer,  following  Brown's  advice  and 
under  Kalman's  immediate  directions,  a  strong  force 
of  Galicians  with  horse  teams  and  ox  teams  were  kept 
hard  at  work,  breaking  and  back-setting,  in  antici- 
pation of  an  early  sowing  in  the  following  spring.  In 
the  meantime  Bro^Ti  himself  was  full  of  work.  The 
addition  to  his  hospital  was  almost  always  full  of 
patients ;  his  school  had  begun  to  come  back  to  him 
again,  for  the  gratitude  of  his  warm-hearted  Galician 
people,  in  return  for  his  many  services  to  their  sick 
and  suffering,  sufficed  to  overcome  their  fear  of  the 
Polish  priest,  whose  unpriestly  habits  and  whose  mer- 
cenary spirit  were  fast  turning  against  him  even  the 
most  loyal  of  his  people.  In  the  expressive  words  of 
old  Portnoff,  who,  it  is  to  be  feared,  had  little  reli- 
gion in  his  soul,  was  summed  up  the  general  opinion : 
"  Dat  Klazowski  bad  man.  He  drink,  drink  all  time, 
take  money,  money  for  everyting.  He  damn  school, 
send  doctor  man  hell  fire,"  the  m.eaning  of  which  was 
abundantly  obvious  to  both  Brown  and  his  wife.  ' 
So  full  of  work  were  they  all,  both  at  the  ranch  ^ 
and  at  Wakota,  that  almost  without  their  knowing 
it  the  summer  had  gone,  and  autumn,  with  its  golden 
glorious  days,  nippy  evenings,  and  brilliant  starry 
nights,  Canada's  most  delightful  season,  was  upon 
them.      Throughout    the    summer    the    construction 


£92  THE   FOREIGNER 

gangs  had  steadily  worked  their  way  north  and 
west,  and  had  crossed  the  Saskatchewan,  and  were 
approaching  the  Eagle  Hill  country.  Preceding  the 
construction  army,  and  following  it,  were  camp  fol- 
lowers and  attendants  of  various  kinds.  On  the  one 
hand  the  unlicensed  trader  and  whiskey  pedlar,  the 
bane  of  the  contractor  and  engineer ;  on  the  other 
hand  the  tourist,  the  capitalist,  and  the  speculator, 
whom  engineers  and  contractors  received  with  wel- 
come or  with  scant  tolerance,  according  to  the  let- 
ters of  introduction  they  brought  from  the  great 
men  in  the  East. 

Attached  to  the  camp  of  Engineer  Harris  was  a 
small  and  influential  party,  consisting  of  Mr.  Robert 
Menzies  of  Glasgow,  capitalist,  and,  therefore,  pos- 
sible investor  in  Canadian  lands,  mines,  and  rail- 
roads, —  consequently,  a  man  to  be  considered ;  with 
him,  his  daughter  Marjorie,  a  brown-haired  maid 
of  seventeen,  out  for  the  good  of  her  health  and 
much  the  better  of  her  outing,  and  Aunt  Janet, 
maiden  sister  to  Mr.  Menzies,  and  guardian  to  both 
brother  and  niece.  With  this  party  travelled  Mr. 
Edgar  Penny,  a  young  English  gentleman  of  con- 
siderable means,  who,  having  been  a  year  in  the 
country,  felt  himself  eminently  qualified  to  act  as 
adviser  and  guide  to  the  party.  At  present,  how- 
ever, Mr.  Penny  was  far  more  deeply  interested  in 
the  study  of  the  lights  that  lurked  in  IMiss  Marj  orie's 
brown   eyes,   and  the  bronze  tints   of  her  abundant 


THE   MAIDEN   OF  THE   BROWN   HAHl     293 

hair,  than  in  the  opportunities  for  investments 
offered  by  Canadian  lands,  raih'oads,  and  mines. 

With  an  elaborate  equipment,  this  party  had  spent 
three  months  travelling  as  far  as  Edmonton,  and 
now,  on  their  waj'^  back,  were  attached  to  the  camp 
of  Engineer  Harris,  in  order  that  the  Scotch  capi- 
talist might  personally  investigate  methods  of  rail- 
way construction  as  practised  in  W^estern  Canada. 
At  present,  the  party  were  encamped  at  a  little  dis- 
tance from  the  Wakota  trail,  and  upon  the  sunny 
side  of  a  poplar  bluff,  for  it  was  growing  late  in 
the  year. 

It  was  on  a  rare  October  morning  that  Kalman, 
rising  before  the  sun,  set  out  upon  his  broncho  to 
round  up  the  horses  for  their  morning  feed  in 
preparation  for  the  day's  back-setting.  With  his 
dogs  at  his  horse's  heels,  he  rode  down  to  the  Night 
Hawk,  and  crossed  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  ravine. 
As  he  came  out  upon  the  open  prairie,  Captain,  the 
noble  and  worthy  son  of  Blucher,  caught  sight  of 
a  prairie  wolf  not  more  than  one  hundred  yards  dis- 
tant, and  was  off  after  him  like  the  wind. 

"  Aha !  my  boy,"  cried  Kalman,  getting  between 
the  coyote  and  the  bluff,  and  turning  him  towards 
the  open  country,  "  you  have  got  your  last  chicken, 
I  guess.     It  is  our  turn  now." 

Headed  off  from  the  woods  that  marked  the  banks 
of  the  Night  Hawk  Creek,  the  coyote  in  desperation 
took  to  the  open  prairie,  with  Captain  and  Queen, 


294  THE    FOREIGNER 

a  noble  fox-hound  bitch,  closing  fast  upon  him.  Two 
miles  across  the  open  country  could  be  seen  the 
poplar  bluff,  behind  which  lay  the  camp  of  the  En- 
gineer and  his  travelling  companions.  Steadily  the 
gap  between  the  wolf  and  the  pursuing  hounds  grew 
less,  till  at  length,  fearing  the  inevitable,  the  hunted 
beast  turned  towards  the  little  bluff,  and  entered 
it  with  the  dogs  only  a  few  yards  behind.  Alas !  for 
him,  the  bluff  afforded  no  shelter.  Right  through 
the  little  belt  of  timber  dashed  the  wolf  with  the 
dogs  and  Kalman  hard  upon  his  trail.  At  the  very 
instant  that  the  wolf  came  opposite  the  door  of 
Aunt  Janet's  tent,  Captain  reached  for  the  extreme 
point  of  the  beast's  extended  tail.  Like  a  flash,  the 
brute  doubled  upon  his  pursuer,  snapping  fiercely 
as  the  hound  dashed  past.  With  a  howl  of  rage  and 
pain.  Captain  clawed  the  ground  in  his  effort  to 
recover  himself,  but  before  he  could  renew  his  at- 
tack, and  just  as  the  wolf  was  setting  forth  again, 
like  a  cyclone  Queen  was  upon  them.  So  terrific 
was  her  impact,  that  dogs  and  wolf  rolled  under  the 
tent  door  in  one  snarling,  fighting,  snapping  mass 
of  legs  and  tails  and  squirming  bodies.  Immedi- 
ately from  within  rose  a  wild  shriek  of  terror. 

"  Mercy  sakes  alive !  What,  what  is  this  ?  Help ! 
Help!  Help!  Where  are  you  all.?  Will  some  one 
not  come  to  my  help  ? "  Kalman  sprang  from  his 
horse,  rushed  forward,  and  lifted  the  tent  door.  A 
new  outcry  greeted  his  ear. 


THE   MAIDEN   OF  THE   BROWN   HAHl     295 

"  Get  out,  get  out,  you  man !  "  He  dropped  the 
flap,  fled  aghast  before  the  appalhng  vision  of  Aunt 
Janet  in  night  attire,  with  a  ring  of  curl-papers 
round  her  head,  driven  back  into  the  corner  of  the 
tent,  and  crouched  upon  a  box,  her  gown  drawn 
tight  about  her,  while  she  gazed  in  unspeakable 
horror  at  the  whirhng,  fighting  mass  upon  the  tent 
floor  at  her  feet.  Higher  and  higher  rose  her 
shrieks  above  the  din  of  the  fight.  From  a  neigh- 
bouring tent  there  rushed  forth  a  portly,  middle- 
aged  gentleman  in  pyjamas,  gun  in  hand. 

"  Wha  t  is  it,  Katharine  ?  Where  are  you, 
Katharine?" 

"Where  am  1?  WTiere  but  here,  ye  gowk!  Oh, 
Robert !    Robert !    I  shall  be  devoured  alive." 

The  stout  gentleman  ran  to  the  door  of  the  tent, 
lifted  the  flap,  and  plunged  in.  With  equal  celerity 
he  plunged  back  again,  shouting,  "  Whatever  is  all 
yon.?" 

"  Robert !  Robert !  "  screamed  the  voice,  "  come 
back  and  save  me." 

"What  is  this,  sir?"  indignantly  turning  upon 
Kalman,  who   stood  in  bewildered  uncertainty. 

"  It  is  a  wolf,  sir,  that  my  dogs  —  " 

"  A  wolf !  "  screamed  the  portly  gentleman,  spring- 
ing back  from  the  door. 

"  Go  in,  sir ;  go  in  at  once  and  save  my  sister ! 
Wlaat  are  you  looking  at,  sir?  She  will  be  devoured 
alive.  I  beseech  you.  I  am  in  no  state  to  attack 
a  savage  beast." 


296  THE   FOREIGNER 

From  another  tent  appeared  a  young  man,  rotund 
of  form  and  with  a  chubby  face.  He  was  partly 
dressed,  his  night-robe  being  stuffed  hastily  into  hid 
trousers,  and  he  held  the  camp  axe  in  his  hand. 

"  What  the  deuce  is  the  row?  "  he  exclaimed.  "  By 
Jove !    sounds  like  a  beastly  dog  fight." 

"Aunt  Janet!  Aunt  Janet!  What  is  the  matter?  *' 
A  girl  in  a  dressing-gown,  with  her  hair  streaming 
behind  her,  came  rushing  from  another  tent,  and 
sprang  towards  the  door  of  the  tent,  from  which 
came  the  mingled  clamour  of  the  fighting  dogs  and 
the  terror-stricken  woman.  Kalman  stepped  quickly 
in  front  of  her,  caught  her  round  the  waist,  and 
swung  her  behind  him. 

"  Go  back !  "  he  cried.  "  Get  away,  all  of  you." 
There  was  an  immediate  clearance  of  the  space  in 
front  of  the  tent.  Seizing  a  club,  he  sprang  among 
the  fighting  beasts. 

"  Oh !  you  good  man !  Come  here  and  save  me," 
cried  Aunt  Janet  in  a  frenzy  of  relief.  But  Kalman 
was  too  busy  for  the  moment  to  give  heed  to  her 
cries.  As  he  entered,  a  fiercer  howl  arose  above  the 
din.  The  wolf  had  seized  hold  of  Captain's  upper 
lip  and  was  grimly  hanging  on,  while  Queen  waa 
gripping  savagely  for  the  beast's  throat.  With 
his  club  Kalman  struck  the  wolf  a  heavy  blow,  stun- 
ning it  so  that  it  released  its  hold  on  the  dog.  Then, 
catching  it  by  the  hind  leg,  he  hauled  wolf  and 
hounds  out  of  the  tent  in  one  squirming  mass. 


THE   MAIDEN   OF  THE   BROWN   HAHl     29T 

"  God  help  us !  "  cried  the  stout  gentleman,  dart- 
ing into  his  own  tent  and  poking  his  head  out 
through  the  door.  "  Keep  the  brute  off.  There 's 
my  gun." 

The  girl  screamed  and  ran  behind  Kalman.  The 
young  man  with  the  chubby  face  dropped  his  axe 
and  jumped  hastily  into  a  convenient  wagon. 

"  Shoot  the  bloomin'  brutes,"  he  cried.  "  Some 
one  bring  me  my  gun." 

But  the  wolf's  days  were  numbered.  Queen's 
powerful  jaws  were  tearing  at  his  throat,  while 
Captain,  having  gripped  him  by  the  small  of  the 
back,  was  shaking  him  with  savage  fury. 

"  Oh !  the  poor  thing !  Call  off  the  dogs !  "  cried 
the  girl,  turning  to  Kalman. 

"No!  No!  Don't  you  think  of  it!"  cried  the 
man  from  the  tent  door,     "  He  will  attack  us." 

Kalman  stepped  forward,  and  beating  the  dogs 
from  their  quarry,  drew  his  pistol  and  shot  the  beast 
through  the  head. 

"  Get  back,  Captain !   Back!  Back!  I  say.   Down!" 

With  difficulty  he  drew  the  wolf  from  the  jaws 
of  the  eager  hounds,  and  swung  it  into  the  wagon 
out  of  the  dogs'  reach. 

"  My  word !  "  exclaimed  the  young  man,  leaping 
from  the  wagon  with  precipitate  haste.  "  What  are 
you  doing?  " 

"  He  won't  hurt  you,  sir.     He  is  dead." 

The  young  man's  red,  chubby  face,  out  of  which 


298  THE   FOREIGNER 

peered  his  little  round  eyes,  his  red  hair  standing 
in  a  disordered  halo  about  his  head,  his  strange  at- 
tire, with  trailing  braces  and  tag-ends  of  his  night- 
robe  hanging  about  his  person,  made  a  picture  so 
weirdly  funny  that  the  girl  went  off  into  peals  of 
laughter. 

"  Marjorie!  Marjorie!  "  cried  an  indignant  voice, 
"what  are  ye  daein'  there?  Tak'  shame  to  yerseP, 
ye  hizzie." 

Marjorie  turned  in  the  direction  of  the  voice,  and 
again  her  peals  of  laughter  burst  forth.  "  Oh ! 
Aunt  Janet,  you  do  look  so  funny."  But  at  once 
the  head  with  its  aureole  of  curl-papers  was  whipped 
inside  the  tent. 

"  Ye  're  no  that  fine  to  look  at  yersel',  ye  shame- 
less lassie,"  cried  Aunt  Janet. 

With  a  swift  motion  the  girl  put  her  hand  to  her 
head,  gathered  her  garments  about  her,  and  fled  to 
the  cover  of  her  tent,  leaving  Kalman  and  the  young 
man  together,  the  latter  in  a  state  of  indignant 
wrath,  for  no  man  can  bear  with  equanimity  the 
ridicule  of  a  maiden  whom  he  is  especially  anxious 
to  please. 

"  By  Jove,  sir !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  What  the  deuce 
did  you  mean,  running  your  confounded  dogs  into 
a  camp  like  that?  " 

Kalman  heard  not  a  word.  He  was  standing  as 
in  a  dream,  gazing  upon  the  tent  into  which  the  girl 
had   vanished.      Ignoring   the   young   man,    he   got 


THE   MAIDEN   OF  THE   BROWN   HAHt     299 

his  horse  and  mounted,  and  calling  his  dogs,  rode 
off  up  the  trail. 

"  Hello  there ! "  cried  Harris,  the  engineer,  after 
him.  Kalman  reined  up.  "  Do  you  know  where  I 
can  get  any  oats?  '* 

"  Yes,"  said  Kalman,  "  up  at  our  ranch." 

"  And  where  is  that.?  " 

"  Ten  miles  from  here,  across  the  Night  Hawk 
Creek."  Then,  as  if  taking  a  sudden  resolve,  "  I  '11 
bring  them  down  to  you  this  afternoon.  How  much 
do  you  want.'*  " 

"  Twenty-five  bushels  would  do  us  till  we  reach 
the  construction  camp." 

"  I  '11  bring  them  to-day,"  said  Kalman,  riding 
away,  his  dogs  limping  after  him. 

In  a  few  moments  the  girl  came  out  of  the  tent. 
"Oh!"  she  cried  to  the  engineer,  "is  he  gone.'*" 

"  Yes,"  said  Harris,  "  but  he  '11  be  back  this 
afternoon.  He  is  going  to  bring  me  some  oats." 
His  smile  brought  a  quick  flush  to  the  girl's  cheeks. 

"Oh!  has  he?"  she  said,  with  elaborate  indiffer- 
ence. "  What  a  lovely  morning !  It 's  wonderful 
for  so  late  in  the  year.  You  have  a  splendid  coun- 
try here,  Mr.  Harris." 

"  That 's  right,"  he  said ;  "  and  the  longer  you 
stay  in  it,  the  better  you  like  it.  You  '11  be  going 
to  settle  in  it  yourself  some  day." 

"  I  'ra  not  so  sure  about  that,"  cried  the  girl,  with 
a  deeper  blush,  and  a  saucy  toss  of  her  head.     "  It 


800  THE   FOREIGNER 

is  a  fine  country,  but  it 's  no'  Scotland,  ye  ken,  as 
my  Aunt  would  say.     My !   but  I  'm  fair  starving." 

It  happened  that  the  ride  to  the  Galician  colony, 
planned  for  that  afternoon  by  Mr.  Penny  the  day 
before,  had  to  be  postponed.  Miss  Marjorie  was 
hardly  up  to  it.  "  It  must  be  the  excitement  of  the' 
country,"  she  explained  carefully  to  Mr.  Penny, 
"so  I'll  just  bide  in  the  camp." 

"  Indeed,  you  are  wise  for  once  in  your  life,"  said 
her  Aunt  Janet.  "  As  for  me,  I  'm  fair  dune  out. 
With  this  hurly-burly  of  such  terrible  excitement  1 
wonder  I  did  not  faint  right  off." 

"  Hoots  awa'.  Aunt  Janet,"  said  her  niece,  "  it 
was  no  time  for  fainting,  I  'm  thinking,  with  yon 
wolf  in  the  tent  beside  ye." 

"  Aye,  lassie,  you  may  well  say  so,"  said  Aunt 
Janet,  lapsing  into  her  native  tongue,  into  which  in 
unguarded  moments  she  was  rather  apt  to  fall,  and 
which  her  niece  truly  loved  to  use,  much  to  her 
Aunt's  disgust,  who  considered  it  a  form  of  vulgarity 
to  be  avoided  with  all  care. 

As  the  afternoon  was  wearing  away,  a  wagon 
appeared  in  the  distance.  The  gentlemen  were  away 
from  camp  inspecting  the  progress  of  the  woi'k  down 
the  line. 

"  There 's  something  coming  yonder,"  said  Miss 
Marjorie,  whose  eyes  had  often  wandered  do^n  the 
trail  that  afternoon. 

"  Mercy   on  us !     What   can   it   be,   and   tham  aB 


THE   MAIDEN   OF   THE   BROWN   HAIR     301 

away,"  said  her  Aunt  in  distress.  "  Put  your  saddle 
on  and  fly  for  your  father  or  Mr.  Harris.  I  am 
terrified.  It  is  this  awful  country.  If  ever  I  get 
out  alive !  " 

"Hoots  awa',  Aunt,  it 's  just  a  wagon." 

"  Marjorie,  why  will  you  use  such  vulgar  expres- 
sions.? Of  course,  it's  a  wagon.  Wha 's  —  who's 
in  it.?  " 

"  Indeed,  I  'm  not  caring,"  said  her  niece ;  "  they  '11 
no'  eat  us." 

"  Marj  orie,  behave  yourself,  I  'm  saying,  and  speak 
as  you  are  taught.     Run  away  for  your  father." 

"  Indeed,  Aunt,  how  could  I  do  this  and  leave  you 
here  by  yourself.?  A  wild  Indian  might  run  off  with 
you." 

"  Mercy  me !    T\Tiat  a  lassie !    I  'm  fair  distracted." 

"  Oh,  Auntie  dear,"  said  Marjorie,  with  a  change 
of  voice,  "  it  is  just  a  man  bringing  some  oats. 
Mr.  Harris  told  me  he  was  to  get  a  load  this  after- 
noon. We  will  need  to  take  them  from  him.  Have 
you  any  money.?     We  must  pay  him,  I  suppose." 

"  Money .?  "  cried  her  Aunt.  "  What  is  the  use 
of  money  in  this  country.?  No,  your  father  has 
it  all." 

"  Why,"  suddenly  exclaimed  her  niece,  "  it 's  not 
the  man  after  all." 

"What  man  are  3^ou  talking  about.?"  enquired 
her  Aunt.     "  What  man  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  It 's  a  stranger.  I  mean  —  it 's  —  another  man," 
said  Marjorie,  distinct  disappointment  in  her  ^ne. 


802  THE   FOREIGNER 

"  Here,  who  is  it,  or  who  is  it  no'?  " 

"Oh,"  said  Marjorie  innocently.  "Mr.  Harris 
is  expecting  that  young  man  who  was  here  this 
morning,  —  the  one  who  saved  us  from  that  awful 
wolf,  you  know." 

"  That  man !  The  impudent  thing  that  he  was," 
cried  her  Aunt.  "  Wait  till  I  set  my  eyes  on  him. 
Indeed,  I  will  not  look  at  any  one  belonging  to  him." 
Aunt  Janet  flounced  into  the  tent,  leaving  her  niece 
to  meet  the  stranger  alone. 

"  Good  afternoon !  Am  I  right  in  thinldng  that 
this  is  the  engineer's  camp,  for  wliich  a  load  of 
oats  was  ordered  this  morning?  "  Jack  French  was 
standing,  hat  in  hand,  looking  his  admiration  and 
perplexity,  for  Kalman  had  not  told  him  anything 
of  this  girl. 

"  Yes,  this  is  the  camp.  At  least,  I  heard  Mr. 
Harris  say  he  expected  a  load  of  oats ;  but,"  she 
added  in  slight  confusion,  "  it  was  from  another 
man,  a  young  man,  the  man,  I  mean,  who  was  here 
this  morning." 

"  Confusion,  indeed !  "  came  a  muffled  voice  from 
the  closed  tent. 

Jack  French  glanced  quickly  around,  but  saw  no 
one. 

"Oh,"  said  Miss  Marjorie,  struggling  with  her 
laughter,  "  it 's  my  Aunt ;  she  was  much  alarmed 
this  morning.  You  see,  the  wolf  and  the  dogs  ran 
right  into  her  tent.     It  was  terrible." 


THE   MAIDEN   OF  THE   BROWN   HAIR     303 

"  Terrible,  indeed,"  said  Jack  French,  with  grave 
politeness.  "  I  could  only  get  the  most  incoherent 
account  of  the  whole  matter.  I  hope  your  Aunt 
was  not  hurt." 

"Hurt,  indeed!"  ejaculated  a  muffled  voice.  "It 
was  nearer  killed,  I  was." 

Upon  this.  Miss  Marjorie  ran  to  the  tent  door. 
"  Aunt,"  she  cried,  lifting  up  the  flap,  "  you  might 
as  well  come  out  and  meet  Mr.  —  " 

"  French,  Jack  French,  as  I  am  known  in  this  free 
country." 

"  My  Aunt,  Miss  Menzies." 

"  Very  happy  to  meet  you,  madam."  Jack's  bow 
was  so  inexpressibly  elegant  that  Aunt  Janet  found 
herself  adopting  her  most  gracious,  Glasgow  society 
manner. 

French  was  profuse  in  his  apologies  and  sympa- 
thetic regrets,  as  he  gravely  listened  to  Aunt  Janet's 
excited  account  of  her  warm  adventure.  The  perfect 
gravity  and  the  profuse  sympathy  with  which  he 
heard  the  tale  won  Aunt  Janet's  heart,  and  she  pri- 
vately decided  that  here,  at  last,  she  had  found  in 
this  wild  and  terrible  country  a  man  in  whom  she 
could  entirely  confide. 

Under  Miss  Marjorie's  direction,  French  unloaded 
his  oats,  the  girl  pouring  forth  the  while  a  stream 
of  observations,  exclamations,  and  interrogations 
upon  all  subjects  imaginable,  and  with  such  an  aban- 
donment  of  good   fellowship   that  French,   for   the 


804  THE    FOREIGNER 

first  time  in  twenty  years,  found  himself  offering 
hospitality  to  a  party  in  which  ladies  were  to  be 
found.  Miss  Menzies  accepted  the  invitation  with 
eager  alacrity. 

"  Oh !  it  will  be  lovely,  won't  it,  Aunt  Janet  ?  We 
have  not  yet  seen  a  real  ranch,  and  besides,"  she 
added,  "  we  have  no  money  to  pay  for  our  oats." 

"  That  matters  not  at  all,"  said  French ;  "  but  if 
your  Aunt  will  condescend  to  grace  with  her  pres- 
ence my  poor  bachelor's  hall,  we  shall  be  most 
grateful." 

Aunt  Janet  was  quite  captivated,  and  before  she 
knew  it,  she  had  accepted  the  invitation  for  the  party. 

"  Oh,  good!  "  cried  Miss  Marjorie  in  ecstasy;  "we 
shall  come  to-morrow,  Mr.  French." 

And  with  this  news  French  drove  back  to  the 
ranch,  to  the  disgust  of  old  Mackenzie,  who  dreaded 
"  women  folks,"  and  to  Kalman's  alternating  delight 
and  dismay.  That  short  visit  had  established  be- 
tween the  young  girl  and  Jack  French  a  warm  and 
abiding  friendship  that  in  a  more  conventional  at- 
mosphere it  would  have  taken  years  to  develop.  To 
her  French  realized  at  once  all  her  ideals  of  what  a 
Western  rancher  should  be,  and  to  French  the  frank, 
fresh  innocence  of  her  unspoiled  heart  appealed  with 
irresistible  force.  They  had  discovered  each  other 
in  that  single  hour. 


HOW   KALMAN   FOUND   HIS  MINE    303 


CHAPTER    XVI 

HOW   KALMAN    FOUND    HIS    MINE 

THE  girl's  enthusiasm  for  her  new-found  friend 
was  such  that  the  whole  party  decided  to  ac- 
cept his  invitation.  And  so  they  did,  spending  a 
full  day  and  night  on  the  ranch,  exploring,  under 
French's  guidance,  the  beauty  spots,  and  investigat- 
ing with  the  greatest  interest,  especially  on  Miss 
Marjorie's  part,  the  farming  operations,  over  which 
Kalman  was  presiding. 

That  young  man,  in  dumb  and  abashed  confusion 
of  face,  strictly  avoided  the  party,  appearing  only 
at  meals.  There,  while  he  made  a  brave  show,  he 
was  torn  between  the  conflicting  .otions  of  admira- 
tion of  the  easy  nonchalance  a»id  self-possession  with 
which  Jack  pla3^cd  the  host,  and  of  furious  rage  at 
the  air  of  proprietorship  which  Mr.  Edgar  Penny 
showed  towards  Miss  Marjorie.  Gladly  would  he 
have  crushed  into  a  shapeless  pulp  the  rudd}'^,  chubby 
face  of  that  young  man.  Kalman  found  himself  at 
times  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  very  spot  where 
his  fingers  itched  to  grip  that  thick-set  neck,  but  in 
spite  of  these  passing  moments  of  fury,  the  whole 
world  was  new  to  him.     The  blue  of  the  sky,  the 

20 


S06  THE   FOREIGNER 

shimmer  of  the  lake,  the  golden  yellow  of  the  pop- 
lars, all  things  in  earth  and  heaven,  were  shining 
with  a  new  glory.  For  him  the  da^^'s  work  had  no 
weariness.  He  no  longer  trod  the  solid  ground,  but 
through  paths  of  airy  bliss  his  soul  marched  to  the 
strains   of   celestial   music. 

Poor  Kalman!  When  on  that  fateful  morning 
upon  his  virgin  soul  there  dawned  the  vision  of  the 
maid,  the  hour  of  fate  struck  for  him.  That  most 
ancient  and  most  divine  of  frenzies  smote  him.  He 
was  deliciously,  madly  in  love,  though  he  knew  it 
not.  It  is  something  to  his  credit,  however,  that 
he  allowed  the  maiden  to  depart  without  giving  visible 
token  of  this  divine  frenzy  raging  within  his  breast, 
unless  it  were  that  in  the  blue  of  his  eyes  there  came 
a  deeper  blue,  and  that  under  the  tan  of  his  cheek 
a  pallor  crept.  But  when  on  their  going  the  girl 
suddenly  turned  in  her  saddle  and,  waving  her  hand, 
cried,  "  Good-by,  Kalman,"  the  pallor  fled,  chased 
from  his  cheek  by  a  hot  rush  of  Slavic  blood  as  he 
turned  to  answer,  "  Good-by."  He  held  his  hat  high 
in  a  farewell  salutation,  as  he  had  seen  Jack  do,  and 
then  in  another  moment  she  was  gone,  and  with  her 
all  the  glory  of  that  golden  autumn  day. 

To  Kalman  it  seemed  as  if  months  or  years  must 
have  passed  since  he  first  saw  her  by  her  Aunt's 
tent  on  that  eventful  morning.  To  take  up  the  or- 
dinary routine  was  impossible  to  him.  That  very 
night,   rolling  up  his   blanlcets   and  grub   for   three 


HOW  KALMAN   FOUND   HIS   IkHNE    SOT 

days,  and  strapping  on  to  his  saddle  an  axe  and  a 
shovel,  Kalman  rode  off  down  the  Night  Hawk  Creek, 
telling  Mackenzie  gruffly,  as  he  called  liis  dogs  to 
follow,  that  he  purposed  digging  out  a  coyote's  den 
that  he  knew  lay  somewhere  between  the  lake  and  the 
Creek  mouth. 

The  afternoon  of  the  second  day  found  him  far 
down  the  Creek,  where  it  plunged  headlong  into  the 
black  ravine  below,  not  having  discovered  his  wolf 
den  and  not  much  caring  whether  he  should  or  not; 
for  as  he  rode  through  the  thick  scrub  he  seemed 
to  see  dancing  before  him  in  the  glancing  beams  that 
rained  down  through  the  yellow  poplar  leaves  a 
maiden's  face  with  saucy  brown  eyes  that  laughed 
at  him  and  lured  him  and  flouted  him  all  at  once. 

At  the  edge  of  the  steep  descent  he  held  up  his 
broncho.  He  had  never  been  down  this  way  before. 
The  sides  of  the  ravine  pitched  sharply  into  a  nar- 
row gorge  through  which  the  Night  Hawk  brawled 
its  way  to  the  Saskatchewan  two  miles  farther  down. 

"  We  '11  scramble  down  here,  Jacob,"  he  said  to  his 
broncho,  —  so  named  by  Brown,  for  that  he  had 
"  supplanted  "  in  Kalman's  affection  his  first  pony,' 
the  pinto. 

He  dismounted,  drew  the  reins  over  the  broncho's 
head,  and  began  the  descent,  followed  by  his  horse, 
slipping,  sliding,  hanging  on  now  by  trees  and  now 
by  jutting  rocks.  By  the  edge  of  what  had  once 
been  a  small  landslip,  he  clutched  a  poplar  tree  to 


808  THE   FOREIGNER 

save  himself  from  going  over;  but  the  tree  came 
away  with  him,  and  horse  and  man  slid  and  rolled 
down  the  slope,  bringing  with  them  a  great  mass  of 
earth  and  stone.  Unhappily,  Jacob  in  his  descent 
rolled  over  upon  the  boy's  leg.  There  was  a  snap, 
^a  twinge  of  sharp  pain,  and  boy  and  horse  lay  half 
imbedded  in  the  loose  earth.  Kalman  seized  a  stick 
that  lay  near  at  hand. 

"  Get  up,  Jacob,  you  brute ! "  he  cried,  giving 
him  a  sharp  blow. 

Jacob  responded  with  a  mighty  plunge  and  strug- 
gled free,  making  it  possible  for  Kalman  to  extricate 
himself.  He  was  relieved  to  discover  that  he  could 
stand  on  his  feet  and  could  walk,  but  only  with 
extreme  pain.  Upon  examination  he  could  find  no 
sign  of  broken  bones.  He  took  a  large  handkerchief 
from  his  neck,  bound  it  tightly  about  his  foot  and 
ankle. 

"  I  say,  Jacob,  we  're  well  out  of  that,"  he  said, 
looking  up  at  the  great  cave  that  had  been  exca- 
vated by  the  landslip.  "  Quite  a  hole,  eh  ?  A  great 
place  to  sleep  in.  Lots  of  spruce  about,  too.  We  '11 
ju«t  camp  here  for  the  night.  I  guess  I  '11  have  to 
let  those  coyotes  go  this  trip.  This  beastly  foot  of 
mine  won't  let  me  dig  much.  Hello !  "  he  continued, 
"  that 's  a  mighty  queer  rock.  I  '11  just  take  a  look 
at  that  hole." 

He  struggled  up  over  the  debris  and  entered  the 
cave.     Through  the  earth  there  showed  a  glistening 


HOW   KALMAN   FOUND   HIS   MINE     309 

seam  slanting  across  one  side  and  ending  in  a  broken 
ledge. 

"  By  Jove ! "  he  cried,  copying  Jack  French  in  his 
habit  of  speech  as  in  other  habits,  "  that  looks  like 
the  coal  we  used  to  find  along  the  Winnipeg  tracks." 

He  broke  off  a  piece  of  the  black  seam.  It  crumbled 
in  his  hands. 

"  I  guess  not,"  he  said ;  "  but  we  'U  get  the  shovel 
at  it." 

Forgetting  for  the  time  the  pain  of  his  foot,  he 
scrambled  down  over  the  soft  earth,  got  his  shovel, 
and  was  soon  hard  at  work  excavating  the  seam. 
Soon  he  had  a  very  considerable  pile  lying  at  the 
front  of  the  cave. 

"  Now  we  '11  soon  see,"  he  cried. 

He  hurriedly  gathered  some  dry  wood,  heaped  the 
black  stuff  upon  it,  lighted  it,  and  sat  doAvn  to  wait 
the  issue.  Wild  hopes  were  throbbing  at  his  heart. 
He  knew  enough  of  the  value  of  coal  to  realize  the 
importance  of  the  discovery.  If  it  should  prove  to 
be  coal,  what  a  splendid  thing  it  would  be  for  Jack 
and  for  him !  How  much  they  would  be  able  to  do 
for  Mrs.  French  and  for  his  sister  Irma!  Amid 
his  dreams  a  new  face  mingled,  a  face  with  saucy 
brown  eyes,  but  on  that  face  he  refused  to  allow 
himself  the  rapture  of  looking.  He  dared  not,  at 
least  not  yet.  Keenly  he  watched  the  fire.  Was  it 
taking  hold  of  the  black  lumps?  The  flames  were 
dying  down.      The  wood  had  nearly  burned  itself 


810  THE   FOREIGNER 

out.     The  black  lumps  were  charred  and  dead,  and 
with  their  dying  died  his  hopes. 

He  glanced  out  upon  the  ravine.  Large  soft 
flakes  of  snow  were  falling  lazily  through  the  trees. 

"  I  '11  get  my  blankets  and  grub  under  cover,  and 
get  some  more  wood  for  the  night.  It 's  going  to 
be  cold." 

Pie  heaped  the  remains  of  the  wood  he  had  gath- 
ered upon  the  fire,  and  with  great  difficulty,  for  his 
foot  was  growing  more  and  more  painful  with  every 
move,  he  set  about  gathering  wood,  of  which  there 
was  abundance  near  at  hand,  and  making  himself 
snug  for  the  night.  He  brought  up  a  pail  of  water 
from  the  Creek,  and  tethered  his  broncho  where  there 
was  a  bunch  of  grass  at  the  bottom  of  the  ravine. 
Before  he  had  finished  these  operations  the  ground 
was  white  with  snow,  and  the  wind  was  beginning 
to  sigh  ominously  through  the  trees. 

"  Going  to  be  a  blizzard,  sure,"  he  said.  "  But 
let  her  blow.  We  're  all  right  in  here.  Hello !  where 
are  those  dogs?  After  the  wolves,  I'll  be  bound. 
They  '11  come  back  when  they  're  ready." 

With  every  moment  the  snow  came  down  more 
thickly,  and  the  wind  grew  toward  a  gale. 

"  If  it 's  going  to  be  a  storm,  I  'd  better  lay  in 
some  more  wood." 

At  the  cost  of  great  pain  and  labour,  he  dragged 
within  reach  of  the  cave  a  number  of  dead  trees. 
He  was  disgusted  to  find  his  stock  of  provisions 
raiJier  low. 


HOW   KALIVIAN   FOUND   HIS   MINE     311 

"  I  wish  I  'd  eaten  less,"  he  grumbled.  "  If  I  'ra 
in  for  a  three  days'  storm,  and  it  looks  like  that,  my 
grub  will  run  out.  I  '11  have  a  cup  of  tea  to-night 
and  save  the  grub  for  to-morrow." 

As  he  was  busy  with  these  pi'eparations,  a  sudden 
darkness  fell  on  the  valley.  A  strange  sound  like 
a  muffled  roaring  came  up  the  ravine.  In  a  single 
minute  everything  was  blotted  out  before  him.  There 
hung  down  before  his  eyes  a  white,  whirling,  blind- 
ing, choking  mass  of  driving  snow. 

"  By  Jove !  that 's  a  corker  of  a  blizzard,  sure 
enough !     I  '11  draw  my  fire  further  in." 

He  seized  his  shovel  and  began  to  scrape  the  em- 
bers of  his  fire  together.  With  a  shout  he  dropped 
his  shovel,  fell  on  his  knees,  and  gazed  into  the  fire. 
Under  the  heap  of  burning  wood  there  was  a  mass 
of  glowing  coal. 

"Coal!"  he  shouted,  rushing  to  the  front  of  the 
cave.  "Coal!  Coal!  Oh,  Jack!  Dear  old  Jack! 
It's  coal!" 

Trembling  between  fear  and  hope,  he  broke  in 
pieces  the  glowing  lumps,  rushed  back  to  the  seam, 
gathered  more  of  the  black  stuff,  and  heaped  it 
around  the  fire.  Soon  his  doubts  were  all  at  rest. 
The  black  lumps  were  soon  on  fire  and  blazed  up  with 
a  blue  flame.  But  for  his  foot,  he  would  have  mounted 
Jacob  and  ridden  straight  off  for  the  ranch  through 
all  the  storm. 

"  Let  her  snow !  "  he  cried,  gazing  into  the  whirl- 


312  THE   FOREIGNER 

Ing  mist  before  his  eyes.  "  I  've  got  the  stujff  that 
beats  blizzards !  " 

He  turned  to  his  tea  making,  now  pausing  to  ex- 
amine the  great  black  seam,  and  again  going  to  the 
cave  entrance  to  whistle  for  his  dogs.  As  he  stood 
listening  to  the  soft  whishing  roar  of  the  storm,  he 
thought  he  heard  the  deep  bay  of  Queen's  voice. 
Holding  his  breath,  he  listened  again.  In  the  pause 
of  the  storm  he  heard,  and  distinctly  this  time,  that 
deep  musical  note. 

"  They  're  digging  out  a  wolf,"  he  said.  "  They  'U 
get  tired  and  come  back  soon." 

He  drank  his  tea,  struggled  down  the  steep  slope, 
the  descent  made  more  difficult  by  the  covering  of 
soft  snow  upon  it,  and  drew  another  pail  of  water 
for  evening  use.  Still  the  dogs  did  not  appear.  He 
went  to  the  cave's  mouth  again,  and  whistled  loud 
and  long.  This  time  quite  distinctly  he  caught 
Queen's  long,  deep  bay,  and  following  that,  a  call 
as  of  a  human  voice. 

"  What  ? "  he  said,  "  some  one  out  in  that 
storm?  " 

He  dropped  upon  his  knees,  put  his  hands  up  to 
his  ears,  and  listened  intently  again.  Once  more, 
in  a  lull  of  the  gale,  he  heard  a  long,  clear  call. 

"  Heavens  above !  "  he  cried,  "  a  woman's  voice ! 
And  I  can't  make  a  hundred  yards  with  this  foot 
of  mine." 

He  knew  enough  of  blizzards  to  realize  the  ex- 


HOW   KALMAN   FOUND    HIS   MINE     31S 

treme  danger  to  any  one  caught  in  those  blinding, 
whirling  snow  clouds. 

"  I  can't  stay  here,  and  I  can't  make  it  with  this 
foot,  but  —  yes  —     By  Jove !    Jacob  can,  though." 

He  seized  his  saddle  and  struggled  out  into  the 
storm.  Three  paces  from  the  door  he  fell  headlong 
irito  a  soft  drift,  wrenching  his  foot  anew.  Chok- 
ing, blinded,  and  almost  fainting  with  the  pain,  he 
got  to  his  feet  once  more  and  fought  his  way  down 
the  slope  to  where  he  knew  his  horse  must  be. 

"  Jacob!  "  he  called,  "  where  are  you.''  " 

The  faithful  broncho  answered  with  a  glad  whinny. 

"  All  right,  old  boy,  I  '11  get  you." 

In  a  few  minutes  he  was  on  the  broncho's  back  and 
off  down  the  valley,  feeling  his  way  carefully  among 
the  trees  and  over  stones  and  logs.  As  he  went  on, 
he  caught  now  and  then  Queen's  ringing  bugle-note, 
and  as  often  as  he  caught  it  he  answered  with  a  loud 
"  Halloo !  "  It  was  with  the  utmost  difficulty  that 
he  could  keep  Jacob's  head  toward  the  storm.  Yard 
by  yard  he  pressed  his  way  against  the  gale,  holding 
his  direction  by  means  of  the  flowing  stream.  Nearer 
and  nearer  sounded  the  cry  of  the  hound,  till  in 
answer  to  his  shouting  he  heard  a  voice  call  loud 
and  clear.  The  valley  grew  wider,  the  timber  more 
open,  and  his  progress  became  more  rapid.  Soon, 
through  the  drifting  mass,  he  caught  sight  of  two 
white  moving  figures.  The  dogs  bounded  toward 
him. 


S14  THE   FOREIGNER 

"  Hello  there !  "  he  called.  "  Here  you  are ;  com« 
this  way." 

He  urged  forward  his  horse  till  he  was  nearly 
upon  them. 

"  Oh,  Kalman !   Kalman !    I  knew  it  was  you !  " 

In  an  instant  he  was  off  his  horse  and  at  her 
side. 

"  You !  You !  "  he  shouted  alour^  above  the  howl- 
ing gale.  "Marjorie!  Marjorie!"  He  had  her  in 
his  arms,  kissing  her  face  madly,  while  sobbing,  pant- 
ing, laughing,  she  sank  upon  his  breast. 

"  Oh,  Kalman !  Kalman !  "  she  gasped.  "  You  must 
stop !  You  must  stop !  Oh !  I  am  so  glad !  You 
must  stop !  " 

"  God  in  Heaven !  "  shouted  the  man,  boy  no  longer. 
"  Who  can  stop  me .''  How  can  I  stop  ?  You  might 
have  died  here  in  the  snow !  " 

At  a  little  distance  the  other  figure  was  hanging 
to  a  tree,  evidently  near  to  exhaustion. 

"  Oh,  Kalman,  we  were  fair  done  when  the  dogs 
came,  and  then  I  would  n't  stop,  for  I  knew  you  were 
near.     But  my !    my !    you  were  so  long !  " 

The  boy  still  held  her  in  his  arms. 

"  I  say,  young  man,  what  the  deuce  are  we  going 
to  do  ?  I  'm  played  out.  I  cawn't  move  a  blawsted 
foot." 

The  voice  recalled  Kalman  from  heaven  to  earth. 
He  turned  to  the  speaker  and  made  out  Mr.  Edgar 
Penny. 


HOW   KALMAN   FOUND   HIS   MINE     315 

"  Do !  "  cried  Kalraan.  "  Why,  make  for  my  camp. 
Come  along.  It 's  up  stream  a  little  distance,  and 
we  can  feel  our  way.     Climb  up,  Marjorie." 

"Can  I?" 

"  Yes,  at  once,"  said  Kalman,  taking  full  com- 
mand of  her.  "  Now,  hold  on  tight,  and  we  '11  soon 
be  at  camp." 

With  the  gale  in  their  backs,  they  set  off  up 
stream,  the  men  holding  by  the  stirrups.  For  some 
minutes  they  battled  on  through  the  blizzard.  Well 
for  them  that  they  had  the  brawling  Creek  to  guide 
them  that  night,  for  through  this  swaying,  choking 
curtain  of  snow  it  was  impossible  to  see  more  than 
a  horse  length. 

In  a  few  minutes  Mr.  Penny  called  out,  "  I  say, 
I  cawn't  go  a  step  further.  Let 's  rest  a  bit."  He 
sat  down  in  the  snow.  Every  moment  the  wind  was 
blowing  colder. 

"  Come  on !  "  shouted  Kalman  through  the  storm. 
"  We  must  keep  going  or  we  '11  freeze." 

But  there  was  no  answer. 

"  Mr.  Penny!  Mr.  Penny!  "  cried  Marjorie,  "  get 
up  !     We  must  go  on !  " 

Still  there  was  no  answer.  Kalman  made  his  way 
round  to  the  man's  side.     He  was  fast  asleep. 

"  Get  up !  Get  up,  you  fool,  or  you  will  be 
smothered ! "  said  Kalman,  roughly  shaking  him. 
'^  Get  up,  I  say !  " 

He  pulled  the  man  to  his  feet  and  they  started  on 


816  THE   FOREIGNER 

once  more,  Mr.  Penny  stumbling  along  like  a  drunken 
man. 

"  Let  me  walk,  Kalman,"  entreated  Marj  orie.  "  I 
feel  fresh  and  strong.  He  can't  go  on,  and  he  will 
only  keep  us  back." 

"  You  walk !  "  cried  Kalman.  "  Never !  If  he 
can't  keep  up  let  him  stay  and  die." 

"  No,  Kalman,  I  am  quite  strong." 

She  slipped  off  the  horse,  Kalman  growling  his 
wrath  and  disgust,  and  together  they  assisted  Mr. 
Penny  to  mount.  By  this  time  they  had  reached  the 
thickest  part  of  the  woods.  The  trees  broke  to  some 
extent  the  force  of  the  wind,  but  the  cold  was  grow- 
ing more  intense. 

"  Single  file  here !  "  shouted  Kalman  to  Marj  orie. 
"  You  follow  me." 

Slowly,  painfully,  through  the  darkness  and  drifted 
snow,  with  teeth  clenched  to  keep  back  the  groan* 
which  the  pain  of  his  foot  was  forcing  from  liim, 
Kalman  stumbled  along.  At  length  a  misstep  turned 
his  foot.  He  sank  with  a  groan  into  the  snow.  With 
a  cry  Marjoi-ie  was  beside  him. 

"Oh,  Kalman,  you  have  hurt  yourself!" 

"  It  is  this  cursed  foot  of  mine,"  he  groaned.  "  I 
twisted  it  and  something  's  broken,  I  am  afraid,  and 
it  is  rather  sore." 

"  Hollo  there !  what 's  up?  "  cried  Mr.  Penny  from 
his  saddle.     "  I  'm  getting  beastly  cold  up  here." 

Marj  orie  turned  wrathfully  upon  him. 


HOW   KALMAN   FOUND   HIS   MINE     317 

**  Here,  you  great  lazy  thing,  come  down !  "  she 
cried.     "  Kahnan,  you  must  ride." 

But  Kalman  was  up  and  once  more  leading  the 
way. 

"  We  're  almost  there,"  he  cried.  "  Come  along ; 
be  could  n't  find  the  path." 

"It's  just  a  great  shame!"  cried  Marjorle,  half 
sobbing,  keeping  by  his  side.  "  Can't  I  help  you? 
Let  me  try." 

Her  arm  around  him  put  new  life  into  him. 

"  Bay  Jove !   I  see  a  fire,"  shouted  Mr.  Penny. 

"  That 's  camp,"  said  Kalman,  pausing  for  breath 
while  Marjorie  held  him  up.     "We're  just  there." 

And  so,  staggering  and  stumbling,  they  reached 
the  foot  of  the  landslip.  Here  Kalman  took  the 
saddle  off  Jacob,  turned  him  loose,  and  clambered 
up  to  the  cave,  followed  by  the  others.  Mr.  Penny 
Bank  to  the  ground  and  lay  upon  the  cave  floor  like 
one  dead. 

"  Well,  here  we  are  at  last,"  said  Kalman,  "  thank 
God!" 

"  Yes,  thank  God !  "  said  Marjorie  softly,  "  and  — 
you,  Kalman." 

She  sank  to  her  knees  on  the  ground,  and  put- 
ting her  face  in  her  hands,  burst  into  tears. 

"  What  is  it,  Marjorie?  "  said  Kalman,  taking  her 
hands  down  from  her  face.  "  Are  you  hurt  ?  What 
is  it.''  I  can't  bear  to  see  you  cry  like  that."  But 
fee  did  n't  kiss  her.     The  conventionalities  were  seiz- 


818  THE   FOREIGNER 

ing  upon  him  again.  His  old  shyness  was  stealing 
over  his  spirit.     "  Tell  me  what  to  do,"  he  said. 

"  Do  !  "  cried  Marj  orie  through  her  sobs.  "  What 
more  can  you  do.''  Oh,  Kalman,  you  have  saved  me 
from  an  awful  death !  " 

"  Don't  speak  of  it,"  said  the  boy  with  a  shudder. 
"  Don't  I  know  it?  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  it.  But 
are  you  all  right.''  " 

"Right.''"  said  Marj  orie  briskly,  wiping  away 
her  tears.  "  Of  course  I  'm  all  right,  an'  sair  hungry, 
tae." 

"  Why,  of  course.  What  a  fool  I  am ! "  said 
Kalman.      "  I  '11  make  you  tea  in  a  minute." 

"No,  let  me,"  cried  Marj  orie.  "Your  poor  foot 
must  be  awful.  Where  's  your  teapot.''  I  'm  a  gran' 
tea  maker,  ye  ken."  She  was  in  one  of  her  daft 
moods,  as  Aunt  Janet  would  say. 

Never  was  such  tea  as  that  which  they  had  from 
the  tin  tea  pail  and  from  the  one  tin  cup.  What 
though  the  blizzard  howled  its  loudest  in  front  of 
their  cave.?  What  though  the  swirling  snow  threat- 
ened now  and  then  to  douse  their  fire?  What  though 
the  tea  boiled  over  and  the  pork  burned  to  a  crisp? 
What  though  a  single  bannock  stood  alone  between 
them  and  starvation?  What  cared  they?  Heaven 
was  about  them,  and  its  music  was  rinojino;  in  their 
hearts. 

Refreshed  by  their  tea,  they  sat  before  the  blazing 
fire,   all  three,  drying  their  soaked  garments,  while 


HOW   KALMAN   FOUND   HIS   MINE     Sia 

Mr.  Penny  and  Marjorie  recounted  their  experiences, 
They  had  intended  to  make  Wakota,  but  missed  the 
trail.  The  day  was  fine,  however,  and  that  gave 
them  no  concern  till  the  storm  came  up,  when  sud- 
denly they  had  lost  all  sense  of  direction  and  allowed 
their  ponies  to  take  them  where  they  would.  With 
the  instinct  bred  on  the  plains,  the  ponies  had  made 
for  the  shelter  of  the  Night  Hawk  ravine.  Up  the 
ravine  they  had  struggled  till  the  darkness  and  the 
thick  woods  had  forced  them  to  abandon  the  ponies. 

"I  wonder  what  the  poor  things  will  do.?"  inter- 
jected Marjorie. 

"  They  'II  look  after  themselves,  never  fear,"  said 
Kalman.     "  They  live  out  all  winter  here." 

Then  through  the  drifts  they  had  fought  their 
way,  till  in  the  moment  of  their  despair  the  dogs 
came  upon  them. 

"  We  thought  they  were  wolves,"  cried  Mar j  orie, 
"  till  one  began  to  bay,  and  I  knew  it  was  the  fox- 
hound. And  then  I  was  sure  that  you  would  not 
be  far  away.  We  followed  the  dogs  for  a  while, 
and  I  kept  calling  and  calling,  —  poor  Mr.  Penny 
had  lost  his  voice  entirely,  —  till  you  came  and 
found  us." 

A  sweet  confusion  checked  her  speech.  The  heat 
of  the  fire  became  suddenly  insupportable,  and  put- 
ting up  her  hand  to  protect  her  face,  she  drew  back 
into  the  shadow. 

Mr.  Penny,  under  the  influence  of  a  strong  cup 


S20  THE   FOREIGNER 

of  boiling  tea  and  a  moderate  portion  of  the  ban- 
nock and  pork,  —  for  Kalman  would  not  allow  him 
full  rations,  —  became  more  and  more  confident  that 
they  "  would  have  made  it." 

"  Why,  Mr.  Penny,"  cried  Marjoric,  "you  could  n't 
move  a  foot  further.  Don't  you  remember  how  often 
you  sat  down,  and  I  had  just  to  pull  you  up.?  " 

"  Oh,"  said  Mr.  Penny,  "  it  was  the  beastly  drift 
getting  into  my  eyes  and  mouth,  don't  you  know. 
But  I  would  have  pulled  up  again  in  a  minute.  I 
was  j  ust  getting  my  second  wind.  By  Jove !  I  'm 
strong  on  my  second  wind,  don't  you  know." 

But  Marjorie  was  quite  unconvinced,  while  Kalman 
said  nothing.  Over  and  over  again  they  recounted 
the  tale  of  their  terrors  and  their  struggle,  each  time 
with  some  new  incident;  but  ever  and  anon  there 
would  flame  up  in  Marjorie's  cheek  the  flag  of  dis- 
tress, as  if  some  memory  smote  her  with  a  sudden 
blow,  and  her  hand  would  cover  her  cheek  as  if  to 
ward  off  those  other  and  too  ardent  kisses  of  the 
dancing  flames.  But  at  such  times  about  her  lips 
a  fitful  smile  proclaimed  her  distress  to  be  not  quite 
unendurable. 

At  length  Mr.  Penny  felt  sleepy,  and  stretching 
himself  upon  the  dry  earth  before  the  fire,  passed 
into  unconsciousness,  leaving  the  others  to  them- 
selves. Over  the  bed  of  spruce  boughs  in  the  comer 
Kalman  spread  his  blankets,  moving  about  with  pain- 
ful difficulty  at  his  task,  his  groans  growing  more 


HOW  KALMAN   FOUND   HIS  MINE    321 

frequent   as  they  called  forth  from  his   companion 
exclamations  of  tender  commiseration. 

The  story  of  those  vigil  hours  could  not  be  told. 
How  they  sat  now  in  long  silences,  gazing  into  the 
glowing  coals,  and  again  conversing  in  low  voices 
lest  Mr.  Penny's  vocal  slumbers  should  be  disturbed ; 
how  Marjorie  told  the  short  and  simple  story  of  her 
life,  to  Kalman  all  wonderful;  how  Kalman  told  the 
story  of  his  life,  omitting  parts,  and  how  Marjorie's 
tender  eyes  overflowed  and  her  rosy  cheeks  grew 
pale  and  her  hand  crept  toward  his  arm  as  he  told 
the  tragedy  of  his  mother's  death;  how  she  de- 
scribed with  suppressed  laughter  the  alarms  of  her 
dear  Aunt  Janet  that  morning  —  was  it  a  month 
ago  ?  —  how  he  told  of  Jack  French,  what  a  man  he 
was  and  how  good ;  how  she  spoke  of  her  father 
and  his  strength  and  his  tenderness,  and  of  how  he 
spoiled  her,  against  which  Kalman  vehemently  pro- 
tested; how  he  told  of  Brown  and  his  work  for  the 
poor  ignorant  Galicians,  and  of  the  songs  they  sang 
together ;  how  she  made  him  sing,  at  first  in  under- 
tones soft  and  low,  lest  poor  Mr.  Penny's  sleep 
should  be  broken,  and  then  in  tones  clear  and  full, 
the  hymns  in  which  Brown  and  French  used  to  join, 
and  then,  in  obedience  to  her  peremptory  commands, 
his  own  favourite  Hungarian  love-song,  of  which  he 
shyly  told  her ;  how  her  eyes  shone  like  stars,  her 
cheeks  paled,  and  her  hands  held  fast  to  each  other 
in  the  ecstasy  of  her  rapture  while  ho  told  her  what 

SI 


S22  THE   FOREIGNER 

it  all  meant,  at  first  with  averted  looks,  and  then 
boldly  pouring  the  passion  of  his  soul  into  her  eyes, 
till  they  fell  before  the  flame  in  his  as  he  sang  the 
refrain, 

*'  While  the  flower  blooms  in  the  meadow, 
And  fishes  swim  the  sea, 
Heart  of  my  heart,  soul  of  my  soul, 
I  '11  love  and  live  for  thee  " ; 

how  then  shyness  fell  on  her  and  she  moved  ever  so 
little  to  her  own  side  of  the  fire ;  how  he,  sensitive 
to  her  every  emotion,  rose  at  once  to  build  the  fire, 
telling  her  for  the  first  time  then  of  his  wonderful 
discovery,  which  he  had  clean  forgot ;  how  together 
on  tiptoe  they  examined,  with  heads  in  close  prox- 
imity and  voices  lowered  to  a  whisper,  the  black  seam 
that  ran  down  a  side  of  the  cave ;  how  they  discussed 
the  possible  value  of  it  and  what  it  might  mean  to 
Kalman ;  and  then  how  they  fell  silent  again  till 
Kalman  commanded  her  to  bed,  to  which  she  agreed 
only  upon  condition  that  he  should  rouse  Mr.  Penny 
when  his  watch  should  be  over ;  how  she  woke  in 
broad  daylight  to  find  him  with  breakfast  ready,  the 
blizzard  nearly  done,  and  the  sun  breaking  through 
upon  a  wonderful  world,  white  and  fairylike ;  how 
they  vainly  strove  to  simulate  an  ease  of  manner,  to 
forget  some  of  the  things  that  happened  the  night 
before,  and  that  neither  could  ever  forget  till  the 
heart  should  cease  to  beat. 


HOW   KALMAN   FOUND   fflS   MINE     323 

All  this  might  be  told,  had  one  the  art.  But  no 
art  or  skill  of  man  could  tell  how,  as  they  talked, 
there  flew  from  eye  to  eye,  hers  broAvn  and  his  blue- 
grey,  those  swift,  fluttering  signals  of  the  heart ;  how 
he  watched  to  see  on  her  cheek  the  red  flush  glow 
and  pale  again,  not  sure  whether  it  was  from  the  fire 
upon  the  cave  floor  or  from  the  fire  tliat  burns  eter- 
nal in  the  heart  of  man  and  maid ;  how,  as  he  talked 
and  sang,  she  feared  and  loved  to  see  the  bold  leap 
of  passion  in  his  eyes ;  and  how  she  speedily  learned 
what  words  or  looks  of  hers  could  call  up  that 
flash;  how,  as  she  slept,  he  piled  high  the  fire,  not 
that  she  might  be  warm,  but  that  the  light  might 
fall  upon  her  face  and  he  might  drink  and  drink  till 
his  heart  could  hold  no  more,  of  her  sweet  loveH- 
ness ;  how,  when  first  waking,  her  eyes  fell  on  him 
moving  softly  about  the  cave,  and  then  closed  again 
till  she  could  dream  again  her  dream  and  drink  in 
slow  sips  its  rapture ;  how  he  feared  to  meet  her 
waking  glance,  lest  it  should  rebuke  his  madness  of 
the  night;  how,  as  her  eyes  noted  the  haggard  look 
of  sleepless  watching  and  of  pain,  her  heart  flowed 
over  as  with  a  mother's  pity  for  her  child,  and  how 
she  longed  to  comfort  him  but  dared  not;  how  he 
thought  of  the  coming  days  and  feared  to  think  of 
them,  because  in  them  she  would  have  no  place  or 
part ;  how  she  looked  Into  the  future  and  wondered 
what  like  would  be  a  life  in  this  new  and  wonderful 
land  —  all  this,  no  matter  what  his  skill  or  art,  no 
man  could  tell. 


324  THE   FOREIGNER 

It  was  still  morning  when  Jack  French  and  Brown 
rode  up  the  Night  Hawk  ravine,  driving  two  saddled 
ponies  before  them.  Their  common  anxiety  had 
furnished  the  occasion  for  the  healing  of  the  breach 
that  for  a  year  and  more  had  held  these  friends 
apart. 

With  voluble  enthusiasm  Mr.  Penny  welcomed 
them,  plunging  into  a  graphic  account  of  their 
struggle  with  the  storm  till  happily  they  came  upon 
the  dogs,  who  led  them  to  Kalman  and  his  camp. 
But  French,  brushing  him  aside,  strode  past  to  where, 
trembling  and  speechless,  Marjorie  stood,  and  then, 
taking  her  in  his  arms,  he  whispered  many  times  in 
her  ears,  "  Thank  God,  little  girl,  you  are  safe." 

And  ]\Iargaret,  putting  her  arms  around  Jack's 
neck,  whispered  through  radiant  tears,  "  It  was 
Kalman,  Jack.  Don't  listen  to  yon  gommeril.  It 
was  Kalman  saved  us ;  and  oh.  Jack,  he  is  just 
lovely !  " 

And  Jack,  patting  her  cheek,  said,  "  I  know  all 
about  him." 

"  Do  you,  indeed.''  "  she  answered,  with  a  knowing 
smile.  "  I  doubt.  But  oh !  he  has  broken  his  foot 
or  something.     And  oh.  Jack,  he  has  got  a  mine !  " 

And  Jack,  not  knowing  what  she  meant,  looked 
curiously  into  her  face  and  wondered,  till  Brown, 
examining  Kalman's  foot  and  finding  a  broken  bone, 
exclaimed  wrathfully,  "  Say,  boy,  you  don't  tell  me 
you  have  been  walking  on  this  foot?  " 


HOW  KALMAN   FOUND   HIS   MINE     325 

But  Kalman  answered  nothing. 

**  He  came  for  me  —  for  us,  Mr.  Brown,  through 
that  awful  storm,"  cried  Marjorie  penitently;  "and 
is  it  broken?     Oh,  Kalman,  how  could  you.''" 

But  Kalman  still  answered  nothing.  His  dream 
was  passing  from  him.  She  was  restored  to  her 
world  and  was  no  longer  in  his  care. 

"And  here's  his  mine,"  cried  Marjorie,  turning 
Jack  toward  the  black  seam. 

"  By  Jove !  "  cried  Mr.  Penny,  "  and  I  never  saw 
it.     You  never  showed  it  to  me." 

But  during  those  hours  spent  in  the  cave  Kalman 
and  Marjorie  had  something  other  to  occupy  their 
minds  than  mines.  Jack  French  examined  the  seam 
closely  and  in  growing  excitement. 

"  By  the  Lord  Harry !  Kalman,  did  you  find 
this.?" 

Kalman  nodded  indifferently.  Mines  were  nothing 
to  him  now. 

"How  did  you  light  upon  it  ?  " 

And  Kalman  told  him  how. 

"  He  's  just  half  dead  and  starved,"  said  Marjorie 
in  a  voice  that  broke  with  pity.  "  He  watched  all 
last  night  while  we  slept  away  like  a  pair  o'  stirks." 

At  the  tone  in  her  voice.  Jack  French  turned  and 
gave  her  a  searching  look.  The  quick,  hot  blood 
flamed  into  her  cheeks,  and  in  her  eyes  dawned  a 
frank  shyness  as  she  gave  him  back  his  look. 

"  I  don't  care,"  she  said  at  length ;  "  he 's  fair 
dune  oot." 


826  THE   FOREIGNER 

But  Jack  only  nodded  his  head  sagely  while  he 
whispered  to  her,  "  Happy  boy,  happy  boy !  Two 
mines  in  one  night !  '* 

At  which  the  red  flamed  up  again  and  she  fell 
to  examining  with  greater  diligence  the  seam  of 
black  running  athwart  the  cave  side. 

In  a  few  minutes  they  were  mounted  and  away, 
Brown  riding  hard  to  bring  the  great  news  to  the 
engineer's  camp  and  recall  the  hunting  parties ;  the 
rest  to  make  the  ranch,  Marjorie  in  front  in  happy 
sparkling  converse  with  Jack  French,  and  Kalman, 
haggard  and  gloomy,  bringing  up  the  rear.  A  new 
man  was  being  brought  to  birth  within  him,  and 
sore  were  the  parturition  pangs.  For  one  brief  night 
she  had  been  his ;  now  back  to  her  world,  she  was 
his  no  more. 

It  was  quite  two  days  before  the  shining  sun  and 
the  eager  air  had  licked  up  from  earth  the  drifts 
of  snow,  and  two  days  before  Marjorie  felt  quite 
sure  she  was  able  to  bear  again  the  rigours  of  camp 
life,  and  two  days  before  Aunt  Janet  woke  up  to 
the  fact  that  that  foreign  young  man  was  altogether 
too  handsome  to  be  riding  from  morning  till  night 
with  her  niece.  For  Jack,  meanwhile,  was  attending 
with  assiduous  courtesy  the  Aunt  and  receiving  radi- 
ant looks  of  gratitude  from  the  niece.  Two  days 
of  Heaven,  when  Kalman  forgot  all  but  that  she 
was  beside  him ;  two  days  of  hell  when  he  remem- 
bered that  he  was  but  a  poor  foreign  boy  and  she 


HOW   KALMAN   FOUND   HIS  MINE     327 

a  great  English  lady.  Two  days  and  they  said  fare- 
well. Marjoric  was  the  last,  turning  first  to  French, 
who  kissed  her,  saying,  "  Come  back  again,  little 
girl,"  and  then  to  Kalman,  sitting  on  his  broncho, 
for  he  hated  to  go  lame  before  them  all. 

"  Good-by,  Kalman,"  she  said,  smiling  bravely, 
while  her  lips  quivered.  "  I  '11  no  forget  yon  awful 
and,"  leaning  slightly  toward  him  as  he  took  her 
hand,  "  yon  happy  night.  Good-by  for  now.  I  '11 
no  forget." 

And  Kalman,  looking  straight  into  her  eyes,  held 
her  hand  without  a  word  till,  withdrawing  it  from 
his  hold,  she  turned  away,  leaving  the  smile  with 
him  and  carrying  with  her  the  quivering  lips. 

"  I  shall  ride  a  bit  with  you,  little  girl,"  said  Jack 
French,  who  was  ever  quick  with  his  eyes. 

She  tried  to  smile  at  him,  but  failed  piteously. 
But  Jack  rode  close  to  her,  talking  bright  nothings 
till  she  could  smile  again. 

"Oh,  Jack,  but  you  are  the  dear!"  she  said  to 
him  as  they  galloped  together  up  the  trail,  IMr. 
Penny  following  behind.     "  I  '11  mind  this  to  you." 

But  before  they  took  the  descent  to  the  Night 
Hawk  ravine,  they  heard  a  thunder  of  hoofs,  and 
wheeling,  found  Kalman  bearing  down  upon  them. 

"  Mercy  me !  "  cried  Aunt  Janet,  "  what 's  wrang 
wi'  the  lad.?  " 

"  I  have  come  to  say  good-by,"  he  shouted,  hia 
broncho  tearing  up  the  earth  by  Marjorie's  side. 


828  THE   FOREIGNER 

Reaching  out  his  hands,  he  drew  her  toward  him 
and  kissed  her  before  them  all,  once,  again,  and  yet 
again,  with  Aunt  Janet  screaming,  "  Mercy  sakes 
alive !     The  lad  is  daft !     He  '11  do  her  a  hurt !  " 

"  Hoots !  woman,  let  the  bairns  be,"  cried  Mar- 
jorie's  father.     "  He  saved  her  for  us." 

But  having  said  his  farewell,  Kalman  rode  away, 
waving  his  hand  and  singing  at  the  top  of  his  voice 
his  Hungarian  love-song, 

"  While  the  flower  blooms  in  the  meadow, 
And  fishes  swim  the  sea, 
Heart  of  my  heart,  soul  of  my  soul, 
I  '11  love  and  live  for  thee," 

which  none  but  Marjorie  could  understand,  but  they 
all  stood  watching  as  he  rode  away,  and  listening, 

**  With  my  lances  at  my  back, 
My  good  sword  at  my  knee, 
Light  of  my  life,  joy  of  my  soul, 
I  '11  fight,  I  '11  die  for  thee !  " 

And  as  the  song  ceased  she  rode  away,  and  as  she 
rode  she  smiled. 


THE   FIGHT  FOR  THE   MINE        329 


CHAPTER    XVn 

(THE    TIGHT    FOB    THE   MINE 

THE  early  approach  of  winter  checked  the  rail- 
road construction  proper,  but  with  the  snow 
came  good  roads,  and  contractors  were  quick  to  take 
advantage  of  the  easier  methods  of  transportatioa 
furnished  by  winter  roads  to  estabhsh  supply  depots 
along  the  line,  and  to  open  tie  camps  up  in  the  hillso 
And  so  the  old  Edmonton  Trail  was  once  more  hum- 
ming with  life  and  activity  far  exceeding  that  of  its 
palmiest  days. 

As  for  Kalman,  however,  it  was  the  mine  that  ab- 
sorbed his  attention  and  his  energies.  By  day  and 
by  night  he  planned  and  dreamed  and  toiled  for  the 
development  of  his  mine.  With  equal  enthusiasm 
Brown  and  French  joined  in  this  enterprise.  It  was 
French  that  undertook  to  deal  with  all  matters  per- 
taining to  the  organization  of  a  company  b}^  which 
the  mine  should  be  operated.  Registration  of  claim, 
the  securing  of  capital,  the  obtaining  of  charter,  all 
these  matters  were  left  in  his  hands.  A  few  weeks' 
correspondence,  however,  revealed  the  fact  that  for 


SSO  THE    FOREIGNER 

Western  enterprises  money  was  exceedingly  difScult 
to  secure.  French  was  eager  to  raise  money  by 
mortgaging  his  ranch  and  all  his  possessions,  but 
this  proposal  Kalman  absolutely  refused  to  consider. 
Brown,  too,  was  opposed  to  this  scheme.  Determined 
that  something  should  be  done,  French  then  entered 
into  contracts  with  the  Railroad  Company  for  the 
supply  of  ties.  But  though  he  and  Mackenzie  took 
a  large  force  into  the  woods,  and  spent  their  three 
months  in  arduous  toil,  when  the  traders  and  the 
whiskey  runners  had  taken  their  full  toll  little  was 
left  for  the  development  of  the  mine. 

The  actual  working  of  the  mine  fell  to  Kalman, 
aided  by  Brown.  There  was  an  immediate  market 
for  coal  among  the  GaHcians  of  the  colony,  who 
much  preferred  it  to  wood  as  a  fuel  for  the  clay  ovens 
with  which  they  heated  their  houses.  But  they  had 
little  money  to  spare,  and  hence,  at  the  beginning 
of  the  work,  Kalman  hit  upon  the  device  of  bartering 
coal  for  labour,  two  days'  work  in  the  mine  entitling 
a  labourer  to  a  load  of  coal.  Brown,  too,  needed  coal 
for  his  mill.  At  the  Crossinc^  there  was  larcre  demand 
for  coal,  while  correspondence  with  the  Railroad  Com- 
pany discovered  to  Kalman  a  Limitless  market  for  the 
product  of  his  mine.  By  outside  sales  Kalman  came 
to  have  control  of  a  little  ready  money,  and  with  this 
he  engaged  a  small  force  of  Galicians,  who,  following 
lines  suggested  by  Brown,  pushed  in  the  tunnel,  ran 
cross  drifts,  laid  down  a  small  tramwav,  and  accom- 


THE   FIGHT   FOR   THE    MINE         S31 

plished  exploration  and  development  work  that  ap- 
peared to  Kalman's  uninstructed  eyes  wonderful  in- 
deed. The  interest  of  the  whole  colony  centred  in 
the  mine  and  in  its  development,  and  the  confidence 
of  the  people  in  Kalman's  integrity  and  efficiency 
became  more  and  more  firmly  estabhshed. 

But  Brown  was  too  fully  occupied  with  his  own 
mission  to  give  much  of  his  time  to  the  mine.  The 
work  along  the  line  of  construction  and  in  the  camps 
meant  sickness  and  accident,  and  consequently  his 
hospital  accommodation  had  once  more  to  be  in- 
creased, and  this  entailed  upon  himself  and  his  wife, 
who  acted  as  matron,  a  heavy  burden  of  responsibility 
and  of  toil. 

It  was  a  happy  inspiration  of  Jack  French's  that 
led  Brown  to  invoke  the  aid  of  Mrs.  French  in  secur- 
ing the  services  of  a  nurse,  and  Mrs.  French's  pro- 
posal that  Irma,  who  for  two  years  had  been  in  regular 
training,  should  reheve  Mrs.  Brown  of  her  duties  as 
matron,  was  received  by  all  concerned  with  enthusiastic 
approval.  And  so,  to  the  great  rehef  of  Mrs.  Brown 
and  to  the  unspeakable  joy  of  both  Kalman  and  his 
sister,  Irma  and  Paulina  with  her  child  were  installed 
in  the  Wakota  institution,  Irma  taking  charge  of  the 
hospital  and  Paulina  of  the  kitchen- 
It  was  not  by  Brown's  request  or  even  desire  that 
Pauhna  decided  to  make  her  home  in  the  Wakota 
colony.  She  was  there  because  nothing  could  prevent 
her  coming.    Her  life  was  bound  up  with  the  childreB 


332  THE   FOREIGNER 

of  her  lord,  and  for  their  sakes  she  toiled  in  the 
kitchen  with  a  devotion  that  never  flagged  and  never 
sought  reward. 

The  school,  too,  came  back  to  Brown  and  in  larger 
numbers  than  before.  Through  the  autumn  and 
early  winter,  by  his  drunkenness  and  greed,  Klazowski 
had  fallen  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  contempt  of 
his  parishioners.  It  was  Kalman,  however,  that  gave 
the  final  touch  to  the  tottering  edifice  of  his  influence 
and  laid  it  in  ruins.  It  was  the  custom  of  the  priest 
to  gather  his  congregation  for  public  worship  on 
Sunday  afternoon  in  the  schoolhouse  which  Brown 
placed  at  his  disposal,  and  of  which  he  assumed  pos- 
session as  his  right,  by  virtue  of  the  fact  that  it  was 
his  people  who  had  erected  the  building.  On  a  Sun- 
day afternoon,  as  the  winter  was  nearing  an  end, 
Klazowski,  under  the  influence  of  a  too  complete 
devotion  to  the  beer  barrel  that  stood  in  his  host's 
kitchen,  spent  an  hour  in  a  furious  denunciation  of 
the  opponents  of  his  holy  religion,  and  especially  of 
the  heretic  Brown  and  all  his  works,  threatening  with 
excommunication  those  who  in  any  degree  would  dare 
after  this  date  to  countenance  him.  His  character 
was  impugned,  his  motives  declared  to  be  of  the 
basest.  This  was  too  much  for  his  congregation. 
Deep  murmurs  rose  among  the  people,  but  unwarned, 
the  priest  continued  his  execrations  of  the  hated 
heretic. 

At  length  Kalman,  unable  any  longer  to  contaiQ 


THE   FIGHT   FOR   THE   MINE         338 

his  indignation,  sprang  to  his  feet,  gave  the  priest 
the  lie  direct  and  appealed  to  the  people. 

"  You  all  know  Mr.  Brown,"  he  cried,  "  what  sort 
of  man  is  he?  And  what  sort  of  man  is  this  priest 
who  has  spoken  to  you?  You,  Simon  Simbolik,  when 
your  child  lay  dead  and  you  sought  help  of  this  Kla- 
zowski,  what  answer  did  he  give  you.''  " 

"  He  asked  me  for  ten  dollars,"  said  Simon 
promptly,  "  and  when  I  could  not  give  it  he  cursed 
me  from  him.  Yes,"  continued  Simbolik,  "  and  Mr. 
Brown  made  the  coffin  and  paid  for  it,  and  would  take 
no  money.  My  daughter  is  in  his  school,  and  is  learn- 
ing English  and  sewing,  beautiful  sewing,  and  she 
will  stay  there." 

"  You,  Bogarz,"  cried  Kalman,  "  when  your  chil- 
dren were  down  with  scarlet  fever  and  you  went  to  the 
priest  for  help,  what  was  his  reply.?  " 

"  He  drove  me  from  his  house.  He  was  afraid  to 
death." 

"  Yes,"  continued  Kalman,  "  and  Mr.  Brown  came 
and  took  the  children  to  his  hospital,  and  they  are 
well  to-day." 

"  Yes,"  cried  Bogarz,  "  and  he  would  take  nothing 
for  it  all,  but  I  paid  him  all  I  could,  and  I  will  gladly 
pay  him  more." 

And  so  from  one  to  another  went  the  word.  The 
friends  of  Klazowski,  for  he  still  had  a  following, 
were  beaten  into  silence.  Then  rose  more  ominous 
murmurs. 


834  THE   FOREIGNER 

"  I  would  not  have  Klazowski  in  my  house  with  my 
family,"  cried  one,  "  a  single  day.  It  would  not  b« 
safe.     I  need  say  no  more." 

Others  were  found  with  similar  distrust  of  Kla- 
zowski's  morals.  Klazowski  was  furious,  and  sought 
with  loud  denunciations  and  curses  to  quell  the  storm 
of  indignation  that  had  been  roused  against  him. 
Then  Kalman  executed  a  flank  movement. 

"  This  man,"  he  cried,  his  loud,  clear  voice  gaining 
him  a  hearing,  "  This  man  is  promising  to  build  us 
a  church.  He  has  been  collecting  money.  How  much 
money  do  you  think  he  has  by  this  time?  I,  myself, 
gave  liim  ten  dollars;  Mr.  French  gave  him  twenty- 
five." 

At  once  cries  came  from  all  parts  of  the  building. 
"  I  gave  him  twenty-five."  "  And  I  ten."  "  And  1 
five."    And  so  on,  Kalman  keeping  count. 

"  I  make  it  nearly  two  hundred  dollars,"  he  cried. 
**  Has  any  one  seen  the  books  ?  Does  any  one  know 
where  the  money  is  ?  " 

"  No,  no,"  cried  the  crowd. 

"  Then,"  cried  Kalman,  "  let  us  enquire.  We  are 
not  sheep.  This  is  a  free  country,  and  we  are  free 
men.  The  days  of  the  old  tyranny  are  gone."  The 
house  rocked  with  the  wild  cheers  of  the  excited 
crowd.  "  Let  us  examine  into  this.  Let  us  appoint 
a  committee  to  find  out  how  much  money  has  been 
paid  and  where  it  is." 

With  enthusiasm  Kalman's  suggestion  was  carried 


THE   FIGHT   FOR   THE   MINE         S35 

into  effect.  A  committee  was  appointed  and  in- 
structed to  secure  the  information  with  all  speed. 

Next  day  Klazowski  was  not  to  be  found  in  the 
colony.  He  had  shaken  the  Wakota  snow  from  off 
his  feet,  and  had  departed,  carrying  with  him  the 
people's  hard-earned  money,  their  fervent  curses,  and 
a  deep,  deep  grudge  against  the  young  man  upon 
whom  he  laid  the  responsibility  for  the  collapse  of  his 
influence  among  the  faithful  and  long-suffering  peo- 
ple of  Wakota. 

A  few  days  later,  to  an  interested  and  devout  con- 
gregation in  the  city  of  Winnipeg,  he  gave  an  elo- 
quent account  of  his  labours  as  a  missionary  in  the 
remote  colony  of  Wakota,  depicted  in  lurid  colours 
the  persecutions  he  had  endured  at  the  hands  of 
the  heretic  Brown,  reserving  his  most  fervid  periods 
for  the  denunciation  of  the  unscrupulous  machina- 
tions of  an  apostate  and  arch  traitor,  Kalman  Kal- 
mar,  whose  name  would  forever  be  remembered  by 
his  people  with  infamy. 

Among  those  who  remained  to  congratulate  and 
sympathize  with  the  orator,  none  was  more  cordial 
than  Mr.  Rosenblatt,  with  whom  the  preacher  went 
home  to  dine,  and  to  whom,  under  the  mellowing 
influence  of  a  third  bottle,  he  imparted  full  and  val- 
uable information  in  regard  to  Wakota,  its  possi- 
bilities as  a  business  centre,  its  railroad  prospects, 
its  land  values,  its  timber  limits,  and  especially  in 
resard  to  the  character  and  work  of  Kalman  Kal^ 


836  THE   FOREIGNER 

mar,  and  the  wonderful  mine  which  the  young  man 
had  discovered. 

The  information  thus  obtained  Rosenblatt  was 
careful  to  impart  to  his  friend  and  partner,  Samuel 
Sprink.  As  a  result  of  further  interviews  with  the 
priest  and  of  much  shrewd  bargaining  with  railroad 
contractors  and  officials,  in  early  spring,  before  the 
break  up  of  the  roads,  Mr.  Samuel  Sprink  had  estab- 
lished himself  along  the  hne  of  construction  as  a 
vendor  of  "  gents'  furnishings,"  working  men's  sup- 
plies, tobaccos  and  cigars,  and  other  useful  and 
domestic  articles.  It  was  not  announced,  however, 
in  the  alluring  posters  distributed  among  the  people 
in  language  suited  to  their  comprehension,  that  among 
his  stores  might  be  found  a  brand  of  whiskey  of  whose 
virtues  none  could  speak  with  more  confidence  than 
Mr.  Sprink  himself,  for  the  sufficient  reason  that  he 
was  for  the  most  part  the  sole  manufacturer  thereof. 

Chief  among  Mr.  Sprink's  activities  was  that  of 
"  claim  jumping,"  —  to  wit,  the  securing  for  himself 
of  homesteads  for  which  patents  had  not  been  ob- 
tained, the  homesteaders  for  one  reason  or  another 
having  not  been  able  to  complete  the  duties  required 
by  Government.  In  the  prosecution  of  this  business 
Mr.  Sprink  made  a  discovery,  which  he  conveyed  in 
a  letter  to  Mr.  Rosenblatt,  who  was  still  in  charge 
of  the  Winnipeg  end  of  the  Company's  business. 

*'  You  must  come  at  once,"  wrote  Mr.  Sprink.  "  I 
bave  a  great  business  on  hand.     I  have  discovered 


THE   FIGHT   FOR   THE   MINE         337 

that  no  application  has  been  made  for  the  coal  mine 
claimed  by  young  Kalmar,  and  this  means  that  the 
mine  is  still  open.  Had  I  the  full  description  of  the 
property,  I  should  have  jumped  the  claim  at  once, 
you  bet.  So  get  a  move  on  and  come.  Get  the 
description  of  the  land  on  the  quiet,  and  then  do 
some  work  among  the  Galician  people  to  prepare 
for  the  change  of  ownership,  because  there  will  be 
trouble,  sure.  So,  come  along.  There  is  other  big 
business  too,  so  you  must  come." 

Rosenblatt  needed  no  further  urging.  In  a  week 
he  was  on  the  ground. 

Meanwhile,  Kalman  was  developing  his  mine,  and 
dreaming  great  dreams  as  to  what  he  should  do 
when  he  had  become  a  great  mine  owner.  It  was  his 
custom,  ever  since  Irma's  coming,  to  spend  the  Sun- 
day evening  with  her  at  the  hospital.  His  way  to 
the  mine  lay  through  scrub  and  slcugh,  a  heavy  trail, 
and  so  he  welcomed  the  breaking  up  of  the  ice  on 
the  Eagle  River.  For,  taking  Brown's  canoe,  he 
could  paddle  down  to  the  Saskatchewan,  and  thence 
to  the  mouth  of  the  Night  Hawk  Creek,  from  which 
point  it  was  only  a  short  walk  to  camp. 

It  was  a  most  fortunate  thing  for  old  Pere  Garneau 
that  Kalman  had  adopted  this  method  of  transpor- 
tation on  the  very  night  the  old  priest  had  chosen 
for  his  trip  down  the  Eagle.  Pere  Garneau,  a  pio- 
neer priest  of  the  North  Saskatchewan  country,  had 
ministered  for  twenty  years,  by  river  and  by  trail, 

82 


338  THE   FOREIGNER 

to  the  spiritual  and  temporal  needs  of  the  half-breeds 
and  the  Indians  under  the  care  of  his  church.  A 
heroic  soul  was  the  old  Father,  not  to  be  daunted  by 
dangers,  simple  as  a  child,  and  kindly.  But  the 
years  had  done  their  work  with  him  on  eye  and  hand. 
The  running  ice  in  the  spring  flood  of  the  Eagle 
River  got  itself  under  the  nose  of  the  good  Father's 
canoe,  and  the  current  did  the  rest.  His  feeble  cry 
would  have  brought  no  aid,  had  not  Kalman,  at  the 
very  moment,  been  shoving  out  his  canoe  into  the 
current  of  the  Eagle.  A  few  strong  sweeps  of  the 
paddle,  and  Kalman  had  the  old  priest  in  tow,  and 
in  a  few  minutes,  with  Brown's  aid,  into  the  hospital 
and  snugly  in  bed,  with  his  canoe,  and  what  of  his 
stuff  could  be  rescued,  safe  under  cover.  Two  days 
of  Irma's  nursing  and  of  Brown's  treatment,  and  the 
ill  effects  of  his  chilly  dip  had  disappeared  sufficiently 
to  allow  the  Father  to  proceed  on  his  way. 

"  Eet  will  be  to  me  a  pleasant  remembrance  of 
your  hospitalite,"  he  said  to  Brown  on  the  morning 
of  the  third  day. 

"  And  to  us  of  your  stay.  Father  Gameau,'*  re- 
plied Brown.  "  But  you  need  not  go  to-day.  You 
are  not  strong  enough,  and,  besides,  I  have  some  work 
for  you.  There  is  a  poor  Galician  woman  with  us 
here  who  cannot  see  the  morning.  She  could  not 
bear  the  priest  Klazowski.  She  had  trouble  with 
him,  and  I  think  you  could  comfort  her." 

"  Ah,  dat  Klazowski !  '*   exclaimed  Pere  Garneau. 


THE   FIGHT   FOR   THE   MINE         339 

"  Eet  ees  not  a  good  man.  Many  peep'  tell  me  of 
dat  man.  He  will  be  no  more  priest,  for  certainly. 
I  would  see  dis  woman,  poor  soul !  " 

"  To-night  Kalman  will  be  here,"  said  Brown, 
"  and  he  will  interpret  for  you." 

"  Ah,  he  ees  a  fine  young  man,  Kalman.  He  mak' 
troub'  for  dat  priest,  ees  eet  not.?  " 

"  Well,  I  am  afraid  he  did,"  said  Brown,  laughing. 
"  But  I  fancy  it  was  the  priest  made  trouble  for 
himself." 

"  Yes,  dat  ees  so,  and  dat  ees  de  worse  troub'  of 
all,"  said  the  wise  old  man. 

The  poor  woman  made  her  confession,  received 
her  Sacrament,  and  thus  comforted  and  at  peace, 
made  exit  from  this  troubled  life. 

"  My  son,"  said  the  priest  to  Kalman  when  the 
service  was  over,  "  I  would  be  glad  to  confess  you." 

"  Thank  you.  Father,"  said  Kalman.  "  I  make  my 
confession  to  God." 

"  Ah,  my  son,  you  have  been  injured  in  your 
faith  by  dat  bad  priest  Klazowski." 

"  No,  I  think  not,"  said  Kalman.  "  I  have  for  some 
years  been  reading  my  Bible,  and  I  have  lived  beside 
a  good  man  who  has  taught  me  to  know  God  and 
our  Lord  and  Saviour  Jesus  Christ.  I  seek  to  fol- 
low him  as  Peter  and  the  others  did.  But  I  am  no 
longer  of  the  Galician  way  of  religion,  neither  Greek 
nor  Roman." 

"  My   son,"    exclaimed   the    old    priest    in   horror. 


340  THE   FOREIGNER 

"  you  are  not  an  apostate  ?  You  have  not  denied 
your  faith?  " 

"  No,  I  have  not.     I  try  to  please  Christ." 

Long  and  painfully,  and  with  tears,  did  the  old 
priest  labour  with  Kalman,  to  whom  his  soul  went  out 
in  gratitude  and  affection,  but  without  making  any 
change  in  the  3/oung  man's  mind.  The  teaching, 
but  more  the  life,  of  his  friend  had  not  been  lost,  and 
Kalman  had  come  to  see  clearly  his  way. 

Next  morning  the  good  Father  was  ready  for  his 
j ourney. 

"  I  leave  to  you,"  he  said  to  Brown,  "  my  double 
blessing,  of  the  stranger  whom  you  received,  and 
of  the  sick  to  whom  you  served.  Ah!  Avhat  a  peety 
you  are  in  the  darkness  of  error,"  he  continued  with 
a  gentle  smile ;  "  but  I  will  pray  for  you,  for  you 
both,  my  children,  many  times." 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you,"  said  Brown  warmly. 
"  The  prayers  of  a  good  man  bring  blessing,  and 
I  love  to  remember  the  words  of  our  INIastcr,  '  He 
that  is  not  against  us  is  on  our  part.'  " 

"  Ah !  dat  ees  true,  dat  ees  true.  Dat  ees  like 
Heem.     Adieu." 

For  some  days  Rosenblatt  had  been  at  work  quietly 
in  the  colony,  obtaining  information  and  making 
friends.  Among  the  first  who  offered  their  services 
was  old  Portnoff  and  a  friend  of  his,  —  an  old  man 
with  ragged  beard,  and  deep-set,  piercing  eyes  look- 
ing out  from  under  shaggy  brows,  to  whom  Port- 


THE   FIGHT   FOR   THE   MINE         341 

noff  gave  the  name  of  Malkarski.  As  Portnoff 
seemed  to  be  a  man  of  influence  among  his  people, 
Rosenblatt  made  him  foreman  over  one  of  the  gangs 
of  workmen  in  his  employ.  It  was  through  Portnoff 
he  obtained  an  accurate  description  of  the  mine 
property.  But  that  same  night  Portnoff  and  Mal- 
karski were  found  at  Brown's  house. 

"  There  is  a  man,"  said  Portnoff,  "  who  wishes 
to  know  about  the  mine.  Perhaps  he  desires  to 
purchase.'* 

"  His  name  ?  "  enquired  Brown. 

"  Rosenblatt." 

"  Rosenblatt  ?  That  name  has  a  familiar  sound. 
It  would  be  wise,"  he  continued,  "  to  carry  your  in- 
formation to  Kalman  at  once." 

"  It  shall  be  done  to-night,"  said  Malkarski  in  a 
deep  voice.  "  It  is  important.  Portnoff  will  go.'* 
Portnoff"  agreed. 

The  following  morning  brought  Kalman  to 
Wakota.  The  arrival  of  Rosenblatt  in  the  country 
had  changed  for  him  the  face  of  heaven  and  earth. 
Before  his  eyes  there  rose  and  remained  the  vision 
of  a  spot  in  a  Russian  forest  where  the  snow  was 
tramped  and  bloody.  With  sobs  and  execrations 
he  poured  forth  his  tale  to  Brown. 

"  And  my  father  has  sworn  to  kill  him,  and  if  he 
fails  I  shall  take  it  up." 

"  Kalman,  my  boy,"  said  Brown,  "  I  cannot  wonder 
that  you  feel  like  this.     Killing  is  too  good  for  tlie- 


S42  THE   FOREIGNER 

brute.  But  this  you  cannot  do.  Vengeance  is  not 
ours,  but  God's." 

"  If  my  father  fails,"  said  Kahnan  quietly,  "  I 
shall  kill  liim." 

"  You  must  not  think  like  that,  much  less  speak 
so,"  said  Brown.  "  This  is  Canada,  not  Russia.  You 
are  a  Christian  man  and  no  heathen." 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  said  Kalman ;  "  I  can  only  see 
that  bloody  snow."  He  put  his  hands  over  his  eye* 
and  shuddered  violently.     "  I  must  kill  him !  " 

"  And  would  you  ruin  your  own  life  ?  Would  you 
shut  yourself  off  forever  from  your  best  and  holiest 
thoughts.?  And  what  of  your  sister,  and  Jack,  and 
me?  And  what  of  —  of  —  all  your  friends.''  For 
this  one  fierce  and  sinful  passion  —  for  it  is  sinful, 
Kalman  —  you  would  sacrifice  yourself  and  all  of  us.'* 

"  I  know  all  that.  It  would  sacrifice  all ;  but  in 
here,"  smiting  his  breast,  "  there  is  a  cry  that  will 
not  cease  till  I  see  that  man's  blood." 

"  God  pity  you,  Kalman.  And  you  call  yourself 
a  follower  of  Him  who  for  His  murderers  prayed, 
*  Father,  forgive  them.'  "  Then  Brown's  voice  grew 
stern.  "  Kalman,  you  are  not  thinking  clearly.  You 
must  face  this  as  a  Christian  man.  The  issue  is 
quite  straight.  It  is  no  longer  betv/een  you  and 
your  enemy ;  it  is  between  you  and  3^our  Lord.  Are 
you  prepared  to-night  to  reject  your  Lord  and  cut 
yourself  off  from  Him.'*  Listen."  Brown  took  his 
Bible,  and  turning  over  the  leaves,  found  the  words, 


THE   FIGHT   FOR   THE   MINE         345 

"  *  If  ye  forgive  not  men  their  trespasses,  neither 
will  your  Father  forgive  your  trespasses  ' ;  and  re- 
member, these  are  the  words  of  Him  who  forgave 
those  who  had  done  their  worst  on  Him,  blighting 
His  dearest  hopes,  ruining  His  cause,  breaking  His 
heart.     Kalman,  you  dare  not." 

And  Kalman  went  his  way  to  meet  his  Gethsemane 
in  the  Night  Hawk  ravine,  till  morning  found  him 
on  his  face  under  the  trees,  with  his  victory  still  in 
the  balance.  The  hereditary  instincts  of  Slavic  blood 
cried  out  for  vengeance.  The  passionate  loyalty  of 
his  heart  to  the  memory  of  his  mother  and  to  his 
father  cried  out  for  vengeance.  His  own  wrongs 
cried  out  for  vengeance,  and  against  these  cries  there 
stood  that  single  word,  "  Father,  forgive  them,  they 
know  not  what  they  do," 

Before  a  week  was  gone  old  Portnoif  came  hot 
foot  to  Brown  to  report  that  early  that  morning 
Rosenblatt  had  ridden  off  in  the  direction  of  the 
Fort,  where  was  the  Government  Land  Office. 

"  It  is  something  about  the  mine.  He  was  in 
good  spirits.  He  offered  me  something  good  on 
his  return.  If  this  were  only  Russia !  "  said  the  old 
Nihihst. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  gi'owled  his  friend  Malkarski,  in  his 
deep  voice,  "  we  should  soon  do  for  him." 

"Left  this  morning.?"  said  Brown.  "How  long 
ago?" 

"  Two  hours." 


344  THE   FOREIGNER 

Brown  thought  quickly.  What  could  it  mean? 
Was  it  possible  the  registration  had  been  neglected? 
Knowing  French's  easy-going  methods  of  doing  busi- 
ness, he  knew  it  to  be  quite  possible.  French  was 
still  away  in  his  tie  camp.  Kalman  was  ten  miles 
off  at  the  mine.     It  was  too  great  a  chance  to  take. 

"  Throw  the  saddle  on  my  horse,  Portnoff,"  he 
cried.     "  I  must  ride  to  the  Fort." 

"  It  would  be  good  to  kill  this  man,"  said  old 
Malkarski  quietly. 

"What  are  you  saying?"  cried  Brown  in  horror. 
"  Be  off  with  you." 

He  made  a  few  hurried  preparations,  sent  word 
to  Kalman,  and  departed.  He  had  forty  miles  be- 
fore him,  and  his  horse  was  none  of  the  best.  Rosen- 
blatt had  two  hours'  lead  and  was,  doubtless,  well 
mounted.  There  was  a  chance,  however,  that  he 
would  take  the  journey  by  easy  stages.  But  a  tail 
<:hase  is  a  long  chase,  especially  when  cupidity  and 
hate  are  spurring  on  the  pursued.  Five  hours'  hard 
riding  brought  Brown  to  the  wide  plain  upon  which 
-stood  the  Fort.  As  he  entered  upon  the  plain,  he 
■discovered  his  man  a  few  miles  before  him.  At  al- 
most the  same  instant  of  his  discovery,  Rosenblatt 
became  aware  of  his  pursuer,  and  the  last  five  miles 
were  done  at  racing  speed.  But  Brown's  horse  was 
spent,  and  when  he  arrived  at  the  Land  Office,  it  was 
to  find  that  application  had  been  made  for  one  hun- 
dred and  sixty  acres  of  mining  land,  including  both 


THE   FIGHT   FOR   THE   MINE         345 

sides  of  the  Night  Hawk  ravine.  Brown  stared  hard 
at  the  entry. 

"  Is  tliere  no  record  of  this  claim  having  been 
entered  before?  "  said  Brown. 

"  None,"  said  the  agent. 

"  This  man,"  Brown  said  at  length  to  the  agent, 
"  never  saw  the  mine.     He  is  not  the  discoverer." 

"Who  is?" 

"  A  young  friend  of  mine,  Kalman  Kalmar.  To 
that  I  can  swear."  And  he  told  the  story  of  the 
discovery,  adding  such  details  as  he  thought  neces- 
sary in  regard  to  Rosenblatt's  character. 

The  official  was  sympathetic  and  interested. 

"  And  how  long  is  it  since  the  discovery  was 
made?"  he  enquired. 

"  Six  months  or  so." 

"  And  why  was  there  no  application  sent  in  ?  " 

Brown  v,^as  silent. 

"  The  Government  cannot  be  responsible  for  neg- 
lect," he  said.  "  You  have  ^^ourselves  to  blame  for 
it.     Nothing  can  be  done  now." 

The  door  opened,  and  Brown  turned  to  find  Rosen- 
blatt with  a  smile  of  triumph  upon  his  face.  Before 
he  was  aware,  his  open  hand  had  swung  hard  upon 
the  grinning  face,  and  Rosenblatt  fell  in  a  huddled 
heap  into  the  corner.  He  rose  up  sputtering  and 
spitting. 

"  I  will  have  the  law  on  you !  "  he  shouted.  "  I  call 
you  as  witness,"  he  continued  to  the  agent. 


346  THE   FOREIGNER 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  said  the  agent. 
**  I  did  n't  see  anything.  If  ycu  trip  yourself  up  and 
pitch  into  the  corner,  that  is  your  own  business.  Get 
out  of  this  office,  you  disorderly  beast !  Hurry  up !  " 
The  agent  put  his  hand  upon  the  counter  and  leaped 
over. 

Rosenblatt  fled,  terrified. 

"  Brute !  "  said  the  agent,  "  I  can't  stand  these 
claim  jumpers.  You  did  that  very  neatly,"  he  said 
to  Brown,  shaking  him  warmly  by  the  hand.  "  I  am 
awfully  sorry,  but  the  thing  can't  be  helped  now." 

Brown  was  too  sick  at  heart  to  reply.  The  mine 
was  gone,  and  with  it  all  the  splendid  castles  he  and 
Kalman  had  been  building  for  the  last  six  months. 
He  feared  to  meet  his  friend.  With  what  heart  now 
could  he  ask  that  this  brute,  who  had  added  another 
to  the  list  of  the  wrongs  he  had  done,  should  be  for- 
given.'' It  was  beyond  all  human  strength  to  wipe 
out  from  one's  mind  such  an  accumulation  of  injuries. 
Well  for  Brown  and  well  for  his  friend  that  forty 
miles  lay  before  him.  For  forty  miles  of  open  country 
and  of  God's  sun  and  air,  to  a  man  whose  heart  is 
open  to  God,  work  mighty  results.  When  at  last 
they  came  together,  both  men  had  won  their  victory. 

Quietly  Brown  told  his  stor3^  He  was  amazed  to 
find  that  instead  of  rousing  Kalman  to  an  irrepressi- 
ble fury,  it  seemed  to  make  but  little  impression  upon 
him  that  he  had  lost  his  mine.  Kalman  had  faced  his 
issue,  and  fouo-ht  out  his  fiffht.     At  all  costs  he  could 


THE   FIGHT   FOR  THE   MINE         347 

not  deny  his  Lord,  and  under  this  compulsion  it  was 
that  he  had  surrendered  his  blood  feud.  I'he  fierce 
lust  for  vengeance  which  had  for  centuries  run  mad 
in  his  Slavic  blood,  had  died  beneath  the  stroke  of 
the  Cross,  and  under  the  shock  of  that  might}'  stroke 
the  loss  of  the  mine  had  Uttle  effect  upon  him.  Brown 
wondered  at  him. 

The  whole  colony  was  throv/n  into  a  ferment  of 
indignation  by  the  news  that  Kalman  had  been  robbed 
of  his  mine.  But  the  agents  of  Rosenblatt  and  Sprink 
were  busy  among  the  people.  Feast  days  v/ere  made 
hilarious  through  their  lavish  gifts  of  beer.  Large 
promises  in  connection  with  the  development  of  the 
mine  awakened  hopes  of  wealth  in  many  hearts.  After 
all,  what  could  they  hope  from  a  young  man  without 
capital,  without  backing,  without  experience?  True, 
it  was  a  pity  he  should  lose  his  mine,  but  men  soon 
forget  the  losses  and  injuries  of  others  under  the 
exhilaration  of  their  own  ambitions  and  dreams  of 
success.  Kalman's  claims  and  Kalman's  wrongs  were 
Boon  obliterated.  He  had  been  found  guilty  of  the 
unpardonable  crime  of  failure.  The  new  firm  went 
vigorously  to  work.  Cabins  were  erected  at  the  mine, 
a  wagon  road  cut  to  the  Saskatchewan.  In  three 
weeks  the  whole  face  of  the  ravine  was  changed. 

It  was  in  the  end  of  April  before  French  re- 
turned from  his  tie  camp,  with  nothing  for  his  three 
months'  toil  but  battered  teams  and  empty  pockets, 
a  worn  and  ill-favoured  body,  and  with  a  heart  sick 


348  THE   FOREIGNER 

with  the  sense  of  failure  and  of  self-scorn.  Kalmanj 
reading  at  a  glance  the  whole  sordid  and  heart- 
breaking storj,  met  him  with  warm  and  cheery  wel- 
come. It  was  for  French,  more  than  for  himself, 
that  he  grieved  over  the  loss  of  the  mine.  Kalman 
was  busy  with  his  preparations  for  the  spring  seed- 
ing. Fie  was  planning  a  large  crop  of  everything 
the  ranch  would  grow,  for  the  coming  market. 

"And  the  mine,  Kalman?"  enquired  French. 

*'  I  've  quit  mining.  The  ranch  for  me,"  exclaimed 
Kalman,  with  cheerful  enthusiasm. 

"  But  what 's  up  ?  "  said  French,  with  a  touch  of 
impatience. 

"  Jack,  we  have  lost  the  mine,"  said  Kalman 
quietly.     And  he  told  the  story. 

As  he  concluded  the  tale,  French's  listlessness 
vanished.     He  was  his  own  man  again. 

"  We  will  ride  down  and  see  Brown,"  he  said  with 
decision. 

"  No  use,"  said  Kalman,  wishing  to  save  him 
further  pain.  "  Brown  saw  the  entry  at  the  Land 
Office,  and  the  agent  plainly  told  him  nothing  could 
be  done." 

"Well,  we  won't  just  lie  down  yet,  boy,"  said 
Jack.  "  Come  along  —  or  —  well,  perhaps  I  'd 
better  go  alone.     You  saddle  my  horse." 

In  half  an  hour  French  appeared  clean  shaven, 
(dressed  in  his  "  civilization  clothes,"  and  looking  hia 
old  self  again. 


THE   FIGHT   FOR   THE   MINE         349 

"  You  're  fine,  Jack,"  said  Kalman  in  admiration. 
**  We  have  got  each  other  yet." 

"  Yes,  boy,"  said  Jack,  gripping  his  hand,  "  and 
that  is  the  best.  But  we  '11  get  the  mine,  too,  or  I  'ra 
a  Dutchman."  All  the  old,  easy,  lazy  air  was  gone. 
In  every  line  of  his  handsome  face,  in  every  movement 
of  his  body,  there  showed  vigour  and  determination. 
The  old  English  fighting  spirit  was  roused,  whose 
tradition  it  was  to  snatch  victory  from  the  jaws  of 
defeat  and  despair. 

Four  weeks  passed  before  Kalman  saw  him  again. 
Those  four  weeks  he  spent  in  toil  from  early  dawn 
till  late  at  night  at  the  oats  and  the  potatoes,  working 
to  the  limit  of  their  endurance  Mackenzie  and  the 
small  force  of  Galicians  he  could  secure,  for  the  mine 
and  the  railroad  offered  greater  attractions.  At 
length  the  level  black  fields  lay  waiting  the  wooing 
of  the  sun  and  rain  and  genial  air.  Then  Kalman 
rode  down  for  a  day  at  Wakota,  for  heart  and  body 
were  exhausted  of  their  vital  forces.  He  wanted 
rest,  but  he  wanted  more  the  touch  of  a  friend's  hand. 

At  Wakota,  the  first  sight  that  caught  his  eye  was 
French's  horse  tethered  on  the  grassy  sward  before 
Brown's  house,  and  as  he  rode  up,  from  within  there 
came  to  his  ear  the  sound  of  unusual  and  hilarious 
revelry. 

"  Hello  there ! "  yelled  Kalman,  still  sitting  his 
horse.     "  What 's  happened  to  you  all.''  " 

The  cry  brought  them  all  out,  —  Brown  and  his 


S50  THE   FOREIGNER 

wife,  French  and  Irma,  with  Paulina  in  the  back- 
ground. They  crowded  around  Mm  with  vociferous 
welcome,  Brown  leading  in  a  series  of  wild  cheers. 
After  the  cheering  was  done,  Brown  rushed  for  him. 

"  Congratulations,  old  boy !  "  he  cried,  shaking 
him  by  the  hand.  "  It 's  all  right ;  we  've  won,  after 
all !  Hurrah !  Hurrah !  Hurrah !  "  Brown  had 
clearly  gone  mad. 

Then  Irma  came  running  toward  him. 

"  Yes,  it 's  all  true,  Kalman  dear,"  she  cried,  pull- 
ing down  his  head  to  kiss  him,  her  voice  breaking 
in  a  sob  and  her  eyes  radiant  with  smiles  and  tears. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,  old  man,"  said  French,  taking 
him  by  the  hand  when  Irma  had  surrendered  her 
place.  "  They  are  all  quite  sane.  We  've  got  it, 
right  enough.     We  've  won  out." 

Kalman  sat  still  on  his  horse,  looking  from  one 
to  the  other  in  utter  bewilderment.  Brown  was  still 
yelling  at  intervals,  and  wildly  waving  his  hat.  At 
length  Kalman  turned  to  Mrs.  Brown. 

"  You  seem  to  be  sane,  anyway,"  he  said ;  "  per- 
haps you  will  tell  me  what  they  all  mean.'^  " 

"  It  means,  Kalman,"  said  the  little  woman,  offer- 
ing him  both  hands,  "  we  are  so  glad  that  we  don't 
know  what  to  do.     We  have  got  back  our  mine." 

"  The  mune !  "  gasped  Kalman  faintly.  "  Impos- 
sible !     Why,  Brown  there  —  " 

"  Yes !  Brown  here,"  yelled  that  individual ;  "  1 
know  Brown.     He  's  a  corker !     But  he  's  sometime* 


THE   FIGHT   FOR   THE   MINE         351 

wrong,  and  this  is  one  of  the  times.  A  mine,  and  a 
company !  And  there  's  the  man  that  did  it !  Jack 
French,  to  whom  I  take  off  my  hat!  He  has  just 
got  home,  and  we  have  just  heard  his  tale,  and  — 
school 's  out  and  the  band  's  going  to  play  and  the 
game  begin.  And  get  dovm  from  your  broncho,  you 
graven  image !  "  Here  Brown  pulled  Kalman  head- 
long from  his  horse.  "  And  Jack  will  perform.  I 
have  not  been  mad  like  this  for  a  thousand  years. 
I  have  been  in  Hades  for  the  last  month,  and  now 
I  'm  out !  I  know  I  am  quite  mad,  but  it 's  fine  while 
it  lasts.  Now,  Jack,  the  curtain  's  up.  Let  the  play 
proceed." 

The  story  was  simple  enough.  Immediately  after 
the  discovery  of  the  mine  French  had  arranged  with 
Mr.  Robert  Menzies  that  he  should  make  application 
with  the  Department  of  the  Interior  at  Ottawa  for 
the  necessary  mining  rights.  The  application  had 
been  made,  but  the  Department  had  failed  to  notify 
the  local  agent. 

"  So,"  said  Jack,  "  the  mine  is  yours  again, 
Kalman." 

"  No,"  said  Kalman,  "  not  mine,  ours ;  yours  as 
much  as  mine.  Jack,  or  not  mine  at  all." 

"  And  the  Company !  "  yelled  Brown.  "  Tell  him 
about  the  Company.     Let  tlie  play  proceed." 

"  Oh,"  said  French,  with  an  air  of  indifference, 
"  Mr.  Menzies  has  a  company  all  organized  and  in 


352  THE   FOREIGNER 

his  pocket,  waiting  only  approval  of  the  owner  of 
the  mine." 

"  And  the  party  will  arrive  in  about  three  weeks, 
I  think  you  said,  French,"  remarked  Brown,  with 
a  tone  of  elaborate  carelessness. 

Kalman's  face  flushed  hot.  The  eyes  of  both  men 
were  upon  him. 

"  Yes,  in  about  three  weeks,"  replied  French. 

"  If  it  were  not  that  I  am  constitutionally  disin- 
clined to  an  active  life,  I  should  like  to  join  myself," 
said  Brown ;  "  for  it  will  be  a  most  remarkable  min- 
ing company,  if  I  know  anything  of  the  signs." 

But  Kalman  could  not  speak.  He  put  his  arm 
around  Jack's  shoulder,  saying,  "  You  are  a  great 
man.  Jack.     I  might  have  known  better." 

"  All  right,  boy,"  said  Jack.  "  From  this  time 
we  shall  play  the  man.  Life  is  too  good  to  lose  for 
nothing.  A  mine  is  good,  but  there  are  better  things 
than  mines." 

*'  Meaning?  "  said  Brown. 

"  Men !  "  said  Jack  with  emphasis. 

"  And,"  shouted  Brown,  slipping  his  arm  round 
his  wife,  "  women." 

"  Brown,"  said  Jack  solemnly,  "  as  my  friend 
Pierre  Lamont  would  say,  '  you  have  reason.'  " 


FOR   FREEDOM   AND   FOR   LOVE     353 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

FOR    FREEDOM    AND    FOE    LOVE 

THE  hut  of  the  Nihilist  Portnoff  stood  in  a  thick 
bluif  about  midway  between  Wakota  and  the 
mine,  but  lying  off  the  direct  line  about  two  miles 
nearer  the  ranch.  It  v/as  a  poor  enough  shack,  made 
of  logs  plastered  over  with  mud,  roofed  with  poplar 
poles,  sod,  and  earth.  The  floor  was  of  earth,  the 
walls  were  whitewashed,  and  with  certain  adornments 
that  spoke  of  some  degree  of  culture.  Near  one  side 
of  the  shack  stood  the  clay  oven  stove,  which  served 
the  double  purpose  of  heating  the  room  and  of  cook- 
ing Portnoff's  food.  Like  many  of  the  Galician 
cabins,  Portnoff's  stood  in  the  midst  of  a  garden,  in 
which  bloomed  a  great  variety  of  brilliant  and  old- 
fashioned  flowers  and  shrubs,  while  upon  the  walls 
and  climbing  over  the  roof,  a  honeysuckle  softened 
the  uncouthness  of  the  clay  plaster. 

It  was  toward  the  end  of  the  third  week  which 
followed  French's  return  that  Portnoff  and  Malkar- 
ski  were  sitting  late  over  their  pipes  and  beer.  The 
shack  was  illumined  with  half  a  dozen  candles  placed 
here  and  there  on  shelves  attached  to  the  walls.  The 
two  men  were  deep  in  earnest  conversation.  At  length 
Portnoff  rose  and  began  to  pace  the  little  room. 

"  Malkarski,"  he  cried,  "  you  are  asking  too  much. 
This  delay  is  becoming  impossible  to  me." 
_  23 


351  THE   FOREIGNER 

"  My  brother,"  said  Malkarski,  "  you  have  waited 
long.  There  must  be  no  mistake  in  this  matter.  The 
work  must  be  thoroughly  done,  so  let  us  be  patient. 
And  meantime,"  he  continued  with  a  laugh,  "  he  is 
having  suffering  enough.  The  loss  of  this  mine  is 
like  a  knife  thrust  in  his  heart.  It  is  pleasant  to  see 
him  squirm  like  a  reptile  pierced  by  a  stick.  He  is 
seeking  large  compensation  for  the  work  he  has  done, 
—  three  thousand  dollars,  I  believe.  It  is  worth  about 
one." 

Portnoff  continued  pacing  up  and  down  the  room. 

"  Curse  him !  Curse  him !  Curse  him  !  "  he  cried, 
lifting  his  clenched  hands  above  his  head. 

"  Be  patient,  brother." 

"  Patient !  "  cried  Portnoff.  "  I  see  blood.  I  hear 
cries  of  women  and  children.  I  fall  asleep  and  feel 
my  fingers  in  his  throat.  I  wake  and  find  them 
empty !  " 

"  Aha !  I  too,"  growled  Malkarski.  "  But  patience, 
patience,  brother !  " 

"  Malkarski,"  cried  Portnoff,  pausing  in  his  walk, 
"  I  have  suffered  through  this  man  in  my  country,  in 
my  people,  in  my  family,  in  my  heart !  " 

"Aha!"  ejaculated  old  Malkarski  with  fierce  em- 
phasis, "  have  you?  Do  you  know  what  suffering  is? 
But  —  yes,  Portnoff,  we  must  be  patient  yet."  As 
he  spoke  he  took  on  a  dignity  of  manner  and  assumed 
an  attitude  of  authority  that  Portnoff  was  quick  to 
recognize. 

"  You  speak  truly,"  replied  the  latter  gravely.  "  I 
heard  a  good  thing  to-day,"  he  continued  with  a 
change  of  tone.     "  It  seems  that  Sprink  —  ** 


FOR  FREEDOM  AND  FOR  LOVE  355 

"  Sprink ! "  muttered  Malkarski  with  infinite  con- 
tempt, "  a  rat,  a  pig !    Why  speak  of  him  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  good  story,"  replied  Portnoff  with  a 
laugh,  "  but  not  pleasant  for  Sprink  to  tell.  It  ap- 
pears he  was  negotiating  with  Mr.  French,  suggest- 
ing a  partnership  in  the  mine,  but  Mr.  French  kicked 
him  out.  It  was  amusing  to  hear  Sprink  tell  the  tale 
with  many  oaths  and  curses.  He  loves  not  French 
any  more." 

"Bah!"  said  Malkarski,  "the  rest  of  the  tale  I 
heard.  He  had  the  impudence  to  propose  —  the  dog ! 
—  alliance  with  the  young  lady  Irma.  Bah !  "  he 
spat  upon  the  ground.  "  And  French  very  properly 
kicked  him  out  of  his  house  and  gave  him  one  minute 
to  remove  himself  out  of  gun  range.  There  was  quick 
running,"  added  old  Malkarski  with  a  grim  smile. 
"  But  he  is  a  cur.     I  wipe  him  out  of  my  mind." 

"  We  must  keep  close  watch  these  days,"  said  Port- 
noff. "  They  are  both  like  mad  dogs,  and  they  will 
bite." 

"  Ha !  "  cried  Malkarski  with  sudden  vehemence, 
"  if  we  could  strike  at  once,  now !  To-night !  "  His 
voice  rose  in  a  cry,  "  Ah,  if  it  were  to-night !  But 
patience,"  he  muttered.     "Ah,  God!    how  long.''" 

"  Not  long,  my  brother,  surely,"  said  Portnoff. 

"  No,  not  long,"  answered  Malkarski.  "  Let  them 
go  aAvay  from  the  mine,  away  from  these  people.  On 
the  railroad  line  many  accidents  occur.  Let  us  not 
spoil  all  by  undue  haste." 

"  It  is  your  day  to  watch  to-morrow,  Malkarski," 
Baid  Portnoff. 

"  I  shall  keep  watch  to-morrow,"  said  Malkarski. 


856  THE    FOREIGNER 

"  After  all,  it  is  j  oy  to  look  on  his  face  and  think  how 
it  will  appear  when  we  have  done  our  work."  He 
rose  and  paced  the  floor,  his  deep-set  eyes  gleaming 
like  live  coals  in  his  haggard  old  face.  "  Ah,"  he 
continued    in    his    deep    undertone,    "  that    will    be 

joy." 

Ever  since  the  arrival  of  Rosenblatt  in  the  country 
he  had  been  under  surveillance  of  one  of  these  two 
old  Nihilists,  walking,  though  he  knew  it  not,  side 
by  side  with  death.  To  Malkarski  fell  the  task  of 
keeping  within  sight  and  sound  of  Rosenblatt  during 
the  following  day. 

The  negotiations  in  connection  with  the  transfer 
of  the  mine  property  were  practically  completed. 
The  money  for  the  improvements  effected  had  been 
paid.  There  remained  only  a  few  minor  matters  to 
be  settled,  and  for  that  a  meeting  was  arranged  at 
the  mine  on  the  evening  of  the  following  day.  At 
this  meeting  Kalman  had  with  great  reluctance  agreed 
to  be  present.  The  place  of  meeting  was  the  original 
cave,  which  had  been  enlarged  to  form  a  somewhat 
spacious  room,  from  which  there  had  been  run  back 
into  the  hill  a  tunnel.  At  the  entrance  to  this  tunnel 
a  short  cross-tunnel  had  been  cut,  with  an  exit  on  the 
side  of  the  hill  and  at  right  angles  to  the  mouth. 
Across  the  ravine  from  the  cave  stood  a  small  log 
building  which  Messrs.  Rosenblatt  and  Sprink  had 
used  as  an  office  during  the  month  of  their  regime. 
Further  down  the  ravine  were  scattered  the  work- 
men's cabins,  now  deserted. 

In  the  preparing  of  plans  for  this  last  meeting 
Rosenblatt  and  Sprink  spent  long  hours  that  day. 


FOR   FREEDOM   AND   FOR   LOVE      S57 

Indeed,  it  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  their  con- 
ference broke  up. 

An  hour  later  found  Malkarski,  pale  and  breath- 
less, at  the  door  of  Portnoff's  cabin,  unable  to  recover 
his  speech  till  Portnoff  had  primed  him  with  a  mug 
of  Sprink's  best  whiskey. 

"What  is  it,  mj  brother.?"  cried  Portnoff, 
alarmed  at  his  condition.    "  What  is  it.f*  " 

"  A  plot !  "  gasped  Malkarski,  "  a  most  damnable 
plot !     Give  me  another  drink." 

Under  the  stimulus  of  the  potent  liquid,  Malkarski 
was  able  in  a  few  minutes  between  his  gasps  to  tell 
his  story.  Concealed  by  a  lumber  pile  behind  Rosen- 
blatt's shack,  with  his  ear  close  to  a  crack  between  the 
logs,  he  had  heard  the  details  of  the  plot.  In  the 
cross  tunnel  at  the  back  of  the  cave  bags  of  gun- 
powder and  dynamite  were  to  be  hidden.  To  this 
mass  a  train  was  to  be  laid  through  the  cross  tunnel 
to  a  convenient  distance.  At  a  certain  point  during 
the  conference  Rosenblatt  would  leave  the  cave  on 
the  pretext  of  securing  a  paper  left  in  his  cabin. 
A  pile  of  brushwood  at  some  distance  from  the  cave 
would  be  burning.  On  his  way  to  his  cabin  Rosen- 
blatt would  fire  the  train  and  wait  the  explosion  in 
his  own  shack,  the  accidental  nature  of  which  could 
easily  be  explained  under  the  circumstances.  In 
order  to  remove  suspicion  from  him,  Rosenblatt  was 
to  appear  during  the  early  evening  in  a  railway  camp 
some  distance  away.  The  plot  was  so  conceived  and 
the  details  so  arranged  that  no  suspicion  could  attach 
to  the  guilty  parties. 

"  And  now,"  said  Malkarski,  "  rush  to  Wakota, 


S58  THE   FOREIGNER 

where  I  know  Mr.  French  and  Kalman  are  to  be  to- 
day. I  shall  go  back  to  the  mine  to  warn  them  if  bj 
any  chance  you  should  miss  them." 

Old  Portnoff  was  long  past  his  best.  Not  for  many 
years  had  he  quickened  his  pace  beyond  a  slow  dog 
trot.  The  air  was  heavy  with  an  impending  storm, 
the  blazed  trail  through  the  woods  was  rough,  and  at 
times  difficult  to  find,  so  that  it  was  late  in  the  even- 
ing when  the  old  man  stumbled  into  the  missionary's 
house  and  poured  out  his  tale  between  his  sobbing 
gasps  to  Brown  and  a  Sergeant  of  the  Mounted 
Police,  who  was  present  on  the  Queen's  business.  Be- 
fore the  tale  was  done  the  Sergeant  was  on  his  feet. 

"  Where  are  French  and  Kalman.? "  he  said 
sharply. 

"  Gone  hours  ago,"  cried  Brown.  "  They  must  be 
at  the  mine  by  now." 

"  Can  this  man  be  rehed  upon  ? "  enquired  the 
Sergeant. 

"  Absolutely,"  said  Brown.     "  Fly !     I  '11  follow." 

Without  further  word  the  Sergeant  was  out  of  the 
house  and  on  his  horse. 

"  What  trail?  "  he  shouted. 

"  It   is  best  by  the   river,"   cried  Brown.      "  The 

cross    trail   you    might    lose.      Go!      Go,    in    God's 

'  name !  "  he  added,  rushing  toward  his  stable,  followed 

by  Portnoff  and  his  wife.     "  Where  is  Paulina.?  "  he 

cried. 

"  Paulina,"  said  his  wife,  "  is  gone.  She  is  acting 
strangely  these  days,  —  goes  and  comes,  I  don't  know 
where." 

"  Get  a  boy,  then,"  said  her  husband,  "  and  send 


FOR   FREEDOM   AND   FOR   LOVE      359 

him  to  the  ranch.  There  is  a  bare  chance  we  may 
stop  them  there.  Portnoff,  there  is  another  pony 
here ;  saddle  and  follow  me.  We  '11  take  the  cross 
traih  And  pray  God,"  he  added,  "  we  may  be  in 
time ! " 

Great  masses  of  liver-coloured  clouds  were  piling 
up  in  the  west,  blotting  out  the  light  from  the  setting 
sun.  Over  all  a  heavy  silence  had  settled  down,  so 
that  in  all  the  woods  there  was  no  sound  of  living 
thing.  Lashing  his  pony  into  a  gallop,  heedless  of 
the  obstacles  on  the  trail,  or  of  the  trees  overhead, 
Brown  crashed  through  scrub  and  sleugh,  with  old 
Portnoff  following  as  best  he  could.  Mile  after  mile 
they  rode,  now  and  then  in  the  gathering  darkness 
losing  the  trail,  and  with  frantic  furious  haste  search- 
ing it  again,  till  at  length,  with  their  ponies  foaming 
and  trembling,  and  their  own  faces  torn  and  bleeding 
with  the  brush,  they  emerged  into  the  clearing  above 
the  ravine. 

Meantime,  the  ghastly  tragedy  was  being  enacted. 
Impatiently  at  the  cave  mouth  French  and  Kalman 
waited  the  coming  of  those  they  were  to  meet.  At 
length,  in  the  gathering  gloom,  Rosenblatt  appeared, 
coming  up  the  ravine.     He  was  pale  and  distraught. 

"  I  have  ridden  hard,"  he  said,  "  and  I  am  shaken 
with  my  ride.  My  papers  are  in  my  cabin.  I  shall 
get  them." 

In  a  few  moments  he  returned,  bringing  with  him  a 
bottle  and  two  cups. 

"Drink!"  he  said.  "No?  Then  I  wilk"  He 
poured  out  a  cup  full  of  raw  whiskey  and  drank  it 
off.    "  My  partner  is  late,"  he  said.    "  He  will  be  here 


S60  THE   FOREIGNER 

in  a  few  moments.     Meantime,  we  can  look  over  the 
papers." 

"  It  is  too  dark  here,"  said  French.  "  We  can't  see 
to  read.  You  have  in  your  cabin  a  light,  let  us  go 
there." 

"  Oh,"  cried  Rosenblatt  hastily,  "  it  is  more  com- 
fortable here.     I  have  a  lantern." 

He  rummaged  in  the  sides  of  the  cave  and  produced 
a  lantern. 

"  Here  is  a  light,"  said  French,  striking  a  match. 

Rosenblatt  snatched  the  match  from  his  hand, 
crushed  it  in  his  fingers  and  hurried  out  of  the  cave. 

"  Ah,"  he  exclaimed,  "  I  am  shaking  with  my 
hurried  ride." 

With  great  care  he  lighted  his  lantern  outside  of 
the  cave  and  set  it  upon  a  table  that  had  been  placed 
near  the  cave's  mouth.  French  drew  out  his  pipe, 
slowly  filled  it  and  proceeded  to  light  it,  when  Rosen- 
blatt in  a  horror-stricken  voice  arrested  him. 

"  Don't  smoke !  "  he  cried.  "  I  mean  —  it  makes 
me  very  ill  —  when  I  am  —  in  this  —  condition  —  the 
sm.ell  of  tobacco  smoke." 

French  looked  at  him  with  cool  contempt. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  you,"  he  said,  lighting  his  pipe 
and  throwing  the  match  down. 

Rosenblatt  sprang  to  the  cave  mouth,  came  back 
again,  furtively  treading  upon  the  match.  Tlie  per- 
spiration was  standing  out  upon  his  forehead. 

"  It  is  a  terrible  night,"  he  said.  "  Let  us 
proceed.  We  can't  wait  for  my  partner.  Read, 
read." 

With  fingers  that  trembled  so  that  he  could  hardly 


FOR   FREEDOM   AND   FOR   LO\^      361 

hold  the  papers,  he  thrust  the  documents  into  Kal- 
man's  hand. 

"  Read,"  he  cried,  "  I  cannot  see." 
Opening  the  papers,  Kalman   proceeded   to   read 
thera  carefully,  by  the  light  of  the  lantern,  French 
smoking  calmly  the  while. 

"  Have  you  no  better  light  than  this,  Rosenblatt  ?  " 
said  French  at  length.  "  Surely  there  are  candles 
about  here."     He  walked  toward  the  back  of  the  cave. 

"  Ah,  my  God !  "  cried  Rosenblatt,  seizing  him  and 
drawing  him  toward  the  table  again.  "  Sit  down, 
sit  down.  If  you  want  candles,  let  me  get  them.  I 
know  where  they  are.  But  we  need  no  candles  here. 
Yes,"  he  cried  with  a  laugh,  "  young  eyes  are  better 
than  old  eyes.  The  young  man  reads  well.  Read, 
read." 

"  There  is  another  paper,"  said  French  after  Kal- 
man had  finished.     "  There  is  a  further  agreement." 

"Yes,  truly,"  said  Rosenblatt.  "Is  it  not  there.? 
It  must  be  there.  No,  I  must  have  left  it  at  my  cabin. 
I  will  bring  it." 

"  Well,  hurry  then,"  said  French.  "  ^Meantime, 
my  pipe  is  out." 

He  drew  a  match,  struck  it  on  the  sole  of  his  boot, 
h'ghted  his  pipe  and  threw  the  blazing  remnant  toward 
the  back  of  the  cave. 

"  Ah,  my  God !  "  cried  Rosenblatt,  his  voice  rising 
almost  to  a  shriek.  Both  men  looked  curioush'-  at 
him.  "  Ah,"  he  said,  with  his  hand  over  his  heart,  "  I 
have  pain  here.     But  I  will  get  the  paper." 

His  face  was  livid,  and  the  sweat  was  runninq;  down 
his  beard.     As  ho  spoke  he  ran  out  and  disappeared, 


562  THE   FOREIGNER 

leaving  the  two  men  poring  over  the  papers  together. 
Beside  the  burning  heap  of  brushwood  he  stood  a  rao- 
ment,  torn  in  an  agony  of  uncertainty  and  fear. 

"  Oh!  "  he  said,  wringing  his  hands,  "  I  dare  not 
do  it!    I  dare  not  do  it!  " 

He  ruslied  past  the  blazing  heap,  paused.  "  Fool !  " 
he  said,  "  what  is  there  to  fear.?  " 

He  crept  back  to  the  pile  of  burning  brush,  seized 
a  blazing  ember,  ran  with  it  to  the  train  he  had  pre- 
pared of  rags  soaked  in  kerosene,  leading  toward  the 
mouth  of  the  cross  tunnel,  dropped  the  blazing  stick 
upon  it,  and  fled.  Looking  back,  he  saw  that  in  his 
haste  he  had  dashed  out  the  flame  and  that  besides  the 
saturated  rags  the  stick  lay  smoking.  With  a  curse 
he  ran  once  more  to  the  blazing  brush  heap,  selected 
a  blazing  ember,  carried  It  carefully  to  the  train,  and 
set  the  saturated  rags  on  fire,  waiting  until  they  were 
fully  alight.  Then  like  a  man  pursued  by  demons,  he 
fled  down  the  ravine,  splashed  through  the  Creek 
and  up  the  other  side,  not  pausing  to  look  behind 
until  he  had  shut  the  door  of  his  cabin. 

As  he  closed  the  door,  a  dark  figure  a,ppeared, 
slipped  up  to  the  door,  there  was  a  click,  a  second, 
and  a  third,  and  the  door  stood  securely  fastened  with 
three  stout  padlocks.  In  another  moment  Rosen- 
blatt's livid  face  appeared  at  the  little  square  window 
which  overlooked  the  ravine. 

At  the  same  instant,  upon  the  opposite  side  of  the 
ravine,  appeared  Brown,  riding  down  the  slope  like 
a  madman,  and  shouting  at  the  top  of  his  voice, 
"  French !  French !  Kalman !  For  God's  sake,  com« 
here!" 


FOR    FREEDOM    AND    FOR   LOVE      366 

Out  of  the  cave  rushed  the  two  men.  As  they  ap- 
peared Brown  stood  waving  his  hands  wildly.  "  Come 
here !  Come,  for  God's  sake !  Come !  "  Hi,T  eyes  fell 
upon  the  blazing  train.  "  Run !  run !  "  he  shouted, 
"  for  your  lives !    Run !  " 

He  dashed  toward  the  blazing  rags  and  trampled 
them  under  his  feet.  But  the  fire  had  reached  the 
powder.  There  was  a  quick  hissing  sound  of  a  burn- 
ing fuse,  and  then  a  great  puff.  Brown  thr^w  him- 
self on  his  face  and  waited,  but  there  was  Pothing 
more.  His  two  friends  rushed  to  him  and  lifted 
him  up. 

"  YV^hat,  in  Heaven's  name,  is  it,  Brown.?"  cried 
French. 

"  Come  away !  "  gasped  Brown,  stumbling  dova  th« 
ravine  and  dragging  them  with  him. 

Meantime,  the  whole  hillside  was  in  flames.  lu  the 
clear  light  of  the  blazing  trees  the  Sergeant  was  rseen 
riding  his  splendid  horse  at  a  hard  gallop.  Soon 
after  his  appearing  came  Portnoff. 

"  What  does  all  this  mean.?  "  said  French,  lookifxji 
around  from  one  to  the  other  with  a  dazed  face. 

Before  they  could  answer,  a  voice  clear  and  sona 
rous  drew  their  ej^es  across  the  ravine  towards  Rosen- 
blatt's cabin.  At  a  little  distance  from  the  cabin  they 
could  distinguish  the  figure  of  a  man  outlined  in  the 
lurid  light  of  the  leaping  flames.  He  was  speaking 
to  Rosenblatt,  whose  head  could  be  seen  thrust  far  out 
of  the  window. 

"  Who  is  that  man  ?  "  cried  the  Sergeant. 

*'  Mother  of  God ! "  said  old  Portnoff  in  a  low 
▼oice.     "  It  is  Malkarski.     Listen.'* 


864  THE    FOREIGNER 

"  Rosenblatt,"  cried  the  old  man  In  the  Russian 
tongue,  "  I  have  something  to  say  to  you.  Those 
bags  of  gunpowder,  that  dynamite  with  which  you 
were  to  destroy  two  innocent  men,  are  now  piled  under 
your  cabin,  and  this  train  at  my  feet  will  fire  them." 

With  a  shriek  Rosenblatt  disappeared,  and  they 
could  hear  him  battering  at  the  door.  Old  Malkarski 
laughed  a  wild,  unearthly  laugh. 

"  Rosenblatt,"  he  cried  again,  "  the  door  is  securely 
fastened !     Three  stout  locks  will  hold  it  closed." 

The  wretched  man  thrust  his  head  far  out  of  the 
window,  shrieking,  "  Help !   Help  !   Murder !   Help !  " 

"  Listen,  you  dog !  "  cried  Malkarski,  his  voice 
ringing  down  through  the  ravine,  "  your  doom  has 
come  at  last.  All  your  crimes,  your  treacheries,  your 
bloody  cruelties  are  now  to  be  visited  upon  you.  Ha ! 
scream !  pray !  but  no  power  in  earth  can  save  you. 
Aha !  for  this  j  oy  I  have  waited  long !  See,  I  now 
light  this  train.     In  one  moment  you  will  be  in  hell." 

He  deliberately  struck  a  match.  A  slight  puff  of 
wind  blew  it  out.  Once  more  he  struck  a  match.  A 
cry  broke  forth  from  Kalman. 

"  Stop !  stop !  Malkarsld,  do  not  commit  this 
crime !  " 

"What  is  he  doing?"  said  the  Sergeant,  pulling 
his  pistol. 

"  He  is  going  to  blow  the  man  up ! "  groaned 
Kalman. 

The  Sergeant  levelled  his  pistol. 
"  Here,  you  man,"  he  cried,  "  stir  in  your  tracks 
and  you  are  dead !  " 

Malkarski  laughed  scornfully  at  him  and  proceeded 


FOR  FREEDOM  AND  FOR  LOVE  3d5 

to  strike  his  third  match.  Before  the  Sergeant  could 
fire,  old  Portnoff  sprang  upon  him  with  the  cry, 
"  Would  you  miu'der  the  man  ?  " 

Meantime,  under  the  third  match,  the  train  was 
blazing,  and  slowly  creeping  toward  the  cabin. 
Shriek  after  shriek  from  the  wretched  victim  seemed 
to  pierce  the  ears  of  the  listeners  as  with  sharp 
stabs  of  pain. 

"  Rosenblatt,"  cried  old  Malkarski,  putting  up  his 
hand,  "  you  know  me  now?  " 

"  No !  no !  "  shrieked  Rosenblatt.  "  Mercy !  mercy ! 
quick!    quick!     I  know  you  not." 

The  old  man  drew  himself  up  to  a  figure  straight 
and  tall.  The  years  seemed  to  fall  from  him.  He 
stepped  nearer  Rosenblatt  and  stood  in  the  full  light 
and  in  the  attitude  of  a  soldier  at  attention. 

"Behold,"  he  cried,  "Michael  Kalmar!" 

"  Ah-h-h-h !  "  Rosenblatt's  voice  was  prolonged 
into  a  wail  of  despair  as  from  a  damned  soul. 

"  My  father !  "  cried  Kalman  from  across  the  ravine. 
"My  father!  Don't  commit  this  crime!  For  my 
sake,  for  Christ's  dear  sake !  " 

He  rushed  across  the  ravine  and  up  the  other  slope. 
His  father  ran  to  meet  him  and  grappled  with  him. 
Upon  the  slope  they  struggled,  Kalman  fighting 
fiercely  to  free  himself  from  those  encircling  arms, 
while  like  a  fiery  serpent  the  flame  crept  slowly  toward 
the  cabin. 

Witli  a  heavy  Iron  poker  which  he  found  in  the 
cabin,  Rosenblatt  had  battered  off  the  sash  and  the 
frame  of  the  window,  enlarging  the  hole  till  he  could 
get  his  head  and  one  arm  free ;    but  there  he  stuck 


SC6  THE   FOREIGNER 

fast,  watching  the  creeping  flames,  shrieking  prayers, 
entreaties,  curses,  while  down  upon  the  slope  swayed 
the  two  men  in  deadly  struggle. 

"  Let  me  go !  Let  me  go,  my  father !  "  entreated 
Kalman,  tearing  at  his  father's  arms.  "  How  can 
I  strike  you !  " 

"  Never,  boy.  Rather  would  I  die !  "  cried  the  old 
man,  his  arms  wreathed  about  his  son's  neck. 

At  length,  with  his  hand  raised  high  above  his  head, 
Kalman  cried,  "  Now  God  pardon  me  this ! "  and 
striking  his  father  a  heavy  blow,  he  flung  him  off  and 
leaped  free.  Before  he  could  take  a  single  step,  an- 
other figure,  that  of  a  woman,  glided  from  the  trees, 
and  with  a  cry  as  of  a  wild  cat,  threw  herself  upon 
him.  At  the  same  instant  there  was  a  dull,  thick  roar ; 
they  were  hurled  stunned  to  the  ground,  and  in  the 
silence  that  followed,  through  the  trees  came  hurtling 
a  rain  of  broken  rock  and  splintered  timbers. 

Slowly  recovering  from  the  shock,  the  Sergeant 
staggered  down  the  ravine,  crying,  "  Come  on !  "  to 
the  others  who  followed  him  one  by  one  as  they  re- 
covered their  senses.  On  the  other  side  of  the  slope 
lay  Kalman  and  the  woman.  It  was  Paulina.  At  a 
little  distance  was  Malkarski,  or  Kalmar,  as  he  must 
be  called,  and  where  the  cabin  had  been  a  great  hole, 
and  at  some  distance  from  it  a  charred  and  blackened 
shape  of  a  man  writhing  in  agony,  the  clothes  still 
burning  upon  him. 

Brown  rushed  down  to  the  Creek,  and  with  a  hat- 
ful of  water  extinguished  the  burning  clothes. 

*'  Water !    water  !  "  gasped  the  wretch  faintly. 

"  Bring  him  some  water,  some  one,"  said  BrowB^ 


FOR  FREEDOM  AND  FOR  LOVE  367 

who  was  now  giving  his  attention  to  Kahnan.  But 
no  one  heeded  him. 

Old  Portnoff  found  a  can,  and  filling  it  at  the 
stream,  brought  it  to  the  group  on  the  slope.  In  a 
short  time  they  began  to  revive,  and  before  long  were 
able  to  stand.  Meantime,  the  wretched  Rosenblatt 
was  piteously  crying  for  water. 

"  Oh,  give  him  some  water,"  said  Kalman  to  Brown, 
who  was  anxiously  taking  his  pulse. 

Brown  took  the  can  over,  gave  the  unhappy  wretch 
a  drink,  pouring  the  rest  over  his  burned  and  mangled 
limbs.  The  explosion  had  shattered  the  lower  part 
and  one  side  of  Rosenblatt's  body,  leaving  untoucned 
his  face  and  his  right  arm. 

The  Sergeant  took  charge  of  the  situation. 

"  You  I  arrest,"  he  said,  taking  old  Kalmar  by 
the  shoulder. 

"  Very  well ;  it  matters  not,"  said  the  old  man, 
holding  up  his  hands  for  the  handcuffs. 

"  Can  anything  be  done  for  this  man.?  "  asked  the 
Sergeant,  pointing  to  Rosenblatt. 

"  Nothing.     He  can  only  live  a  few  minutes." 

Rosenblatt  looked  up  and  beckoned  the  Sergeant 
toward  him. 

"  I  would  speak  with  you,"  he  said  faintly. 

The  Sergeant  approached,  bringing  Kalmar  along 
with  him. 

"  You  need  not  fear,  I  shall  not  try  to  escape," 
said  Kahnar.     "  I  give  you  my  honour." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  Sergeant,  turning  from  him 
to  Rosenblatt.     "What  do  you  wish.?" 

**  Come  nearer,"  said  the  dying  man. 


S68  THE   FOREIGNER 

The  Sergeant  kneeled  down  and  leaned  over  him 
to  listen.  With  a  quick  movement  Rosenblatt  jerked 
the  pistol  from  the  Sergeant's  belt  and  fired  straight 
at  old  Kalmar,  turned  the  pistol  toward  Kalman  and 
fired  again.  But  as  he  levelled  his  gun  for  the  second 
time,  Paulina,  with  a  cry,  flung  herself  upon  Kalman, 
received  the  bullet,  and  fell  to  the  ground.  With  a 
wild  laugh,  Rosenblatt  turned  the  pistol  on  himself, 
but  before  he  could  fire  the  Sergeant  had  wrested  it 
from  his  hand. 

"  Aha,"  he  gasped,  "  I  have  my  revenge !  " 

"  Fool !  "  said  old  Kalmar,  who  was  being  supported 
by  his  son.  "  Fool !  You  have  only  done  for  me  what 
I  would  have  done  for  myself." 

With  a  snarl  as  of  a  dog,  Rosenblatt  sank  back 
upon  the  ground,  and  with  a  shudder  lay  still. 

"  He  is  dead,"  said  Brown.  "  God's  mercy  meet 
him !  " 

"  Ah,"  said  old  Kalmar,  "  I  breathe  freer  now  that 
his  breath  no  longer  taints  the  air.  My  work  is 
done." 

"  Oh,  my  father,"  cried  Kalman  brokenly,  "  may 
God  forgive  you  !  " 

"  Boy,"  said  the  old  man  sternly,  "  mean  you  for 
the  death  of  yon  dog?  You  hang  the  murderer.  He 
is  many  times  a  murderer.  This  very  night  he  had 
willed  to  murder  you  and  your  friend.  He  was  con- 
demned to  death  by  a  righteous  tribunal.  He  has 
met  his  just  doom.  God  is  just.  I  meet  Him  without 
fear  for  this.  For  my  sins,  which  are  many,  I  trust 
His  mercy." 


FOR   FREEDOM   AND   FOR   LOVE      369 

"  My  father,"  said  Kalman,  "  you  are  right.  I  be- 
lieve you.     And  God  is  merciful.     Christ  is  merciful." 

As  he  spoke,  he  leaned  over,  and  wiping  from  his 
father's  face  the  tears  that  fell  upon  it,  he  kissed  him 
on  the  forehead.  The  old  man's  breath  was  growing 
short.  He  looked  towards  Brown.  At  once  Brown 
came  near. 

"  You  are  a  good  man.  Your  religion  is  good» 
It  makes  men  just  and  kind.  Ah,  religion  is  a  beau- 
tiful thing  when  it  makes  men  just  and  kind." 

He  turned  his  eyes  upon  Jack  French,  who  stood 
looking  down  sadly  upon  him. 

"  You  have  been  friend  to  my  son,"  he  said.  "  You 
will  guide  him  still.?  " 

French  dropped  quickly  on  his  knee,  took  him  by 
the  hand  and  said,  "  I  will  be  to  him  a  brother." 

The  old  man  turned  his  face  and  said,  "  Paulina." 

"  She  is  here,"  said  old  Portnoff,  "  but  she  can't 
move." 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice,  the  woman  struggled  up 
to  her  knees,  crawled  over  to  his  side,  the  blood  flow- 
ing from  her  wound,  and  taking  his  hand,  held  it  to 
her  lips. 

"Paulina,"  he  said,  "you  have  done  well  —  you 
are  —  my  wife  again  —  come  near  me." 

The  woman  made  an  inarticulate  moan  like  some 
dumb  beast,  and  lifted  her  face  toward  him. 

"  Kiss  me,"  he  said. 

"  Ah,  my  lord,"  she  cried,  sobbing  wildly,  "  my 
dear  lord,  I  dare  not." 

"  Kiss  me,"  he  said  again. 


370  THE   FOREIGNER 

"  Now  let  me  die,"  she  cried,  kissing  him  on  the 
lips,  and  falling  down  in  a  faint  beside  him. 

Brown  lifted  her  and  laid  her  in  PortnolT's  arms. 
The  dying  man  lay  silent,  gathering  his  strengths 
He  was  breathing  now  with  great  difficulty. 

"  My  son !    I  cannot  see  you  —  " 

Brown  came  and  took  Kalnian's  place. 

"  Here  I  am,  father,"  said  Kalman,  kneeling  be- 
side him  and  holding  liis  two  hands. 

"Bid  —  my  daughter  Irma  —  farewell!  She  will 
be  safe  with  you."  Then  after  a  pause  he  whispered, 
"  In  my  pocket." 

Kalman  understood,  found  a  packet,  and  from  it 
drew  the  miniature  of  his  mother. 

"  I  give  you  this,"  said  the  father,  lifting  it  with 
difficulty  to  his  lips.  "  No  curse  with  it  now  —  only 
blessing — farewell  —  you  have  brought  me  joy  — 
let  me  see  her  face  —  ah,  dear  heart  — "  he  said, 
fastening  his  glazing  eyes  upon  the  beautiful  face, 
"  I  come  to  you  —  ah !  freedom !  —  sweet  freedom 
at  last !  —  and  love  —  all  love !  My  son  —  farewell ! 
—  ray  love !  " 

"  Dear  God !  "  cried  Kalman,  "  Jesu,  have  pity 
and  save ! " 

A  smile  as  of  an  infant  falling  asleep  played  over 
the  rugged  face,  while  the  poor  lips  whispered,  "  At 
last  —  freedom !  —  and  —  love !  " 

He  breathed  once,  deep  and  long,  and  then  no  more. 
The  long,  long  fight  was  done,  the  fight  for  freedom 
and  for  love. 


MY  FOREIGNER  871 


CHAPTER    XIX 


MT    FOREIGNEB, 


THE  Night  Hawk  Mining  Company,  after  a 
period  of  doubt  and  struggle,  was  solidly  on 
its  feet  at  last.  True,  its  dividends  were  not  large, 
but  at  least  it  was  paying  its  way,  and  it  stood  well 
among  the  financial  institutions  of  the  country.  Its 
satisfactory  condition  was  accounted  for  by  its  Presi- 
dent, Sir  Robert  Menzies,  at  the  last  Annual  Meet- 
ing of  the  Company,  in  the  following  words :  "  It  is 
to  the  fidelity,  diligence,  good  judgment,  and  ability 
to  handle  men,  shown  by  our  young  Manager,  Mr. 
Kalmar,  during  the  past  five  years,  that  the  Company 
owes  its  present  excellent  standing." 

The  Foreign  Colony  and  the  mine  reacted  upon 
each  other,  to  their  mutual  advantage,  the  one  fur- 
nishing labourers,  the  other  work  and  cash.  The 
colony  had  greatly  prospered  on  this  accou»l,  but 
perhaps  more  on  account  of  the  influence  of  Dr. 
Brown  and  his  mission.  The  establishment  of  a  Gov- 
ernment school  had  relieved  the  missionary  of  an  ex- 
acting and  laborious  department  of  his  work,  and 
allowed  him  to  devote  himself  to  his  Hospital  and  his 
Training  Home.  The  changes  apparent  in  the  col- 
ony, largely  as  the  result  of  Dr.  Brown's  labours,  were 
truly  remarkable.     The  creating  of  a  market  for  their 


372  THE   FOREIGNER 

produce  by  the  advent  of  the  railway,  and  for  their 
labour  by  the  development  of  the  mine,  brought  the 
Galician  people  wealth,  but  the  influence  of  Dr. 
Brown  himself,  and  of  his  Home,  and  of  his  Hospital, 
was  apparent  in  the  life  and  character  of  the  people, 
and  especially  of  the  younger  generation.  The  old 
mud-plastered  cabins  were  giving  place  to  neat  frame 
houses,  each  surrounded  by  its  garden  of  vegetables 
and  flowers.  In  dress,  the  sheep  skin  and  the  shawl 
were  being  exchanged  for  the  ready-made  suit  and 
the  hat  of  latest  style.  The  Hospital,  with  its  staff 
of  trained  nurses  under  the  direction  of  the  young 
matron,  the  charming  Miss  Irma,  by  its  ministrations 
to  the  sick,  and  more  by  the  spirit  that  breathed 
through  its  whole  service,  wrought  in  the  Galician 
mind  a  new  temper  and  a  new  ideal.  In  the  Training 
Home  fifty  Galician  girls  were  being  indoctrinated 
into  that  most  noble  of  all  sciences,  the  science  of 
home-making,  and  were  gaining  practical  experience 
in  all  the  cognate  sciences  and  arts. 

At  the  Night  Hawk  ranch  too  were  all  the  signs 
of  the  new  order  of  things.  Fenced  fields  and  im- 
ported stock,  a  new  ranch  house  with  stables  and 
granaries,  were  some  of  the  indications  that  the  com- 
ing of  the  market  for  the  produce  of  the  ranch  had 
synchronized  with  the  making  of  the  man  for  its  ad- 
ministration. The  call  of  the  New  Time,  and  the 
appeal  of  the  New  Ideal,  that  came  through  the  rail- 
road, the  mine,  but,  more  than  both,  through  the  Mis- 
sion and  its  founder,  found  a  response  in  the  heart 
of  Jack  French.     The  old  laissez  faire  of  the  pioneer 


MY   FOREIGNER  373 

days  gave  place  to  a  sense  of  responsibility  for  oppor- 
tunity, and  to  habits  of  decisive  and  prompt  attention 
to  the  business  of  the  hour.  Five  years  of  intelligent 
study  of  conditions,  of  steady  application  to  duty, 
had  brought  success  not  in  wealth  alone,  but  in 
character  and  in  influence. 

But  upon  Kalman,  more  than  upon  any  other,  these 
five  years  had  left  their  mark.  The  hard  grind  of 
daily  work,  the  daily  burden  of  administration,  had 
tousfhened  the  fibre  of  his  character  and  hardened  the 
temper  of  his  spirit,  and  this  hardening  and  toughen- 
ing could  be  seen  in  every  line  of  his  face  and  in  every 
motion  of  his  body.  Twice  during  the  five  years  he 
had  been  sent  by  Jack  French  to  the  city  for  a  three 
months'  term  in  a  Business  College,  where  he  learned 
to  know,  not  only  the  books  of  his  College  curriculum, 
but,  through  Jack's  introductions,  the  men  who  were 
doing  big  things  for  the  country.  He  had  returned 
to  his  place  and  to  his  work  in  the  mine  with 
vision  enlarged,  ideal  exalted,  and  with  the  purpose 
strengthened  to  make  the  best  out  of  life.  In  every 
sense  the  years  had  made  a  man  of  him.  He  was  as 
tall  as  Jack,  lithe  and  strong;  in  mind  keen  and 
quick,  in  action  resolute.  To  those  he  met  in  the 
world  of  labour  and  of  business  he  seemed  hard.  To 
his  old  friends  on  the  ranch  or  at  the  Mission,  up 
through  all  the  hardness  there  welled  those  springs 
that  come  from  a  heart  kind,  loyal,  and  true.  Among 
the  Galicians  of  the  colony,  he  was  their  acknowl- 
edged leader,  because  he  did  justly  by  them  and  be- 
cause,  although   a   Canadian  among  Canadians,   he 


374  THE    FOREIGNER 

never  forgot  to  own  and  to  honour  the  Slav  blood 
that  flowed  in  liis  veins,  and  to  labour  for  the  ad- 
vancement of  his  people. 

Eut  full  of  work  and  ambition  as  he  was,  yet  there 
were  times  when  Jack  French  read  in  his  eyes  the 
hunger  of  his  heart.  For  after  all,  it  is  in  the  heart 
a  man  carries  his  life,  it  is  through  the  heart  come 
his  finest  ideals,  from  the  heart  his  truest  words  and 
deeds. 

At  one  such  time,  and  the  week  before  she  came 
again.  Jack  French,  looking  through  the  window  of 
his  own  heart  and  filled  with  a  great  pity  for  the 
young  man  who  had  come  to  be  more  than  brother 
to  him,  had  ventured  to  speak.  But  only  once,  for 
with  such  finality  of  tone  and  manner  as  made  an- 
swer impossible,  Kalman  had  made  reply. 

"  No,  Jack,  I  had  my  dream.  It  was  great  while 
it  lasted,  but  it  is  past,  and  I  shall  dream  no  more." 

"  Kalman,  my  boy,  don't  make  a  mistake.  Life  is 
a  long  thing,  and  can  be  very  dreary."  There  was 
no  mistaking  the  pain  in  Jack's  voice. 

"  Is  it,  Jack.?  "  said  Kalman.  "  I  am  afraid  you 
are  right.  But  I  can  never  forget  —  my  father  was 
a  foreigner,  and  I  am  one,  and  the  tragedy  of  that 
awful  night  can  never  be  wiped  from  her  mind.  The 
curse  of  it  I  must  boar ! " 

"  But,  Kalman,  3'^ou  are  not  ashamed  of  your  blood 
•~—  of  your  father.?  " 

Then  Kalman  lifted  up  his  head  and  his  voice 
rang  out.  "  Of  my  blood.?  No.  But  it  is  not  hers. 
Of  m^'^  father.?    No.     To  me  he  was  the  just  avenger 


MY  FOREIGNER  375 

of  a  great  cause.  But  to  her,"  his  voice  sank  to  a 
hoarse  whisper,  "  he  was  a  murderer !  No,  Jack,  it 
may  not  be." 

"  But,  Kalman,  my  boy,"  remonstrated  Jack, 
«  think  of  all  —  " 

"  Think?  For  these  five  years  I  have  thought  till 
my  heart  is  sore  with  thinking !  No,  Jack,  don't  fret. 
I  don't.  Thank  God  there  are  other  tilings.  There 
is  work,  a  people  to  help,  a  country  to  serve." 

"  Other  things  !  "  said  French  bitterly.  "  True, 
there  are,  and  great  things,  but,  Kalman,  boy,  I  have 
tried  them,  and  to-night  after  thirty  years,  as  I  speak 
to  you  —  my  God !  —  my  heart  is  sick  of  hunger  for 
something  better  than  tilings!  Love!  my  boy,  love 
is  the  best !  " 

"  Poor  Jack !  "  said  Kalman  softly,  "  dear  old 
boy !  "  and  went  out.  But  of  that  hunger  of  the  heart 
they  never  spoke  again. 

And  now  at  the  end  of  five  years'  absence  she  was 
coming  again.  How  vivid  to  Kalman  was  his  re- 
membrance of  the  last  sight  he  had  of  her.  It  was  at 
the  Night  Hawk  ranch,  and  on  the  night  succeeding 
that  of  the  tragedy  at  the  mine.  In  the  inner  room, 
beside  his  father's  body,  he  was  sitting,  his  mind  busy 
with  the  tragic  pathos  of  that  grief-tortured,  storm- 
beaten  life.  Step  by  step,  as  far  as  he  knew  it,  he  was 
tracing  the  tear-wet,  blood-stained  path  that  life 
had  taken;  its  dreadful  scenes  of  blood  and  heart 
agony  were  passing  before  his  mind ;  when  gradually 
he  .became  aware  that  in  the  next  room  the  Sergeant, 
with   bluff    and    almost    brutal    straightfoi-wardness, 


S76  THE   FOREIGNER 

was  telling  her  the  story  of  Rosenblatt's  dreadful  end. 
*'  And  then,  begad !  after  grilling  the  wretch  for  all 
that  time,  didn't  the  infernal,  bloodthirsty  fiend  in 
the  most  cheerful  manner  touch  off  the  powder  and 
blow  the  man  into  eternity."  Then  through  the  thin 
partition  he  heard  her  faint  cry  of  horror.  He  re- 
membered how,  at  the  Sergeant's  description  of  his 
father,  something  seemed  to  go  wrong  in  his  brain. 
He  had  a  dim  remembrance  of  how,  dazed  with  rage, 
he  had  felt  his  way  out  to  the  next  room,  and  cried, 
"  You  def amer  of  the  dead !  you  will  He  no  more !  " 
He  had  a  vivid  picture  of  how  in  horror  she  had  fled 
from  him  while  he  dragged  out  the  Sergeant  by  the 
throat  into  the  night,  and  how  he  had  been  torn  from 
him  by  the  united  efforts  of  Brown  and  French  to- 
gether. He  remembered  how,  after  the  funeral  ser- 
vice, when  he  had  grown  master  of  himself  again,  he 
had  offered  the  Sergeant  his  humble  apology  before 
them  all.  But  most  vivid  of  all  was  his  memory  of  the 
look  of  fear  and  repulsion  in  her  eyes  when  he  came 
near  her.  And  that  was  the  last  look  he  had  had  of 
her.  Gladly  would  he  have  run  away  from  meeting 
her  again ;  but  this  he  could  not  do,  for  Jack's  sake 
and  for  his  own.  Carefully  he  rehearsed  the  scene, 
what  he  would  say,  and  how  he  would  carry  himself ; 
with  what  rigid  self-control  and  with  wbat  easy  in- 
difference he  would  greet  her. 

But  the  meeting  was  quite  other  titan  he  had 
planned.  It  was  at  the  mine.  One  shiny  September 
morning  the  heavy  cars  were  just  starting  down  the 
incline  to  the  mine  below,  when  through  the  c/ireless- 


MY  FOREIGNER  377 

ness  of  the  operator  the  brake  of  the  great  drum 
sKpped,  and  on  being  applied  again  with  reckless 
force,  broke,  and  the  car  was  off,  bringing  destruction 
to  half  a  dozen  men  at  the  bottom  of  the  shaft.  Quick 
as  a  flash  of  light,  Kalman  sprang  to  the  racing  cog 
wheels,  threw  in  a  heavy  coat  that  happened  to  be 
lying  near,  and  then,  as  the  machinery  slowed,  thrust 
in  a  handspike  and  checked  the  descent  of  the  runa- 
way car.  It  took  less  than  two  seconds  to  see,  to 
plan,  to  execute. 

"  Great  work ! "  exclaimed  a  voice  behind  him. 

He  turned  and  saw  Sir  Robert  Menzies,  and  be- 
tween him  and  French,  his  daughter  Marjorie. 

"  Glad  to  see  you.  Sir  Robert,"  he  exclaimed 
heartily. 

"  Tliat  was  splendid !  "  said  his  daughter,  pale  and 
shaken  by  what  she  had  seen. 

One  keen  searching  look  he  thrust  in  through  her 
eyes,  scanning  her  soul.  Bravely,  frankly,  she  gave 
him  back  his  look.  Kalman  drew  a  deep  breath.  It 
was  as  if  he  had  been  on  a  long  voyage  of  discovery, 
how  long  he  could  not  tell.  But  what  he  had  seen 
brought  comfort  to  his  heart.  She  had  not  shrunk 
from  him. 

"  That  was  fine ! "  cried  Marj  orie  again,  offering 
him  her  hand. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  he  said,  holding  back  his,  "  that  my 
hand  is  not  clean  enough  to  shake  with  you." 

"  Give  it  to  me,"  she  said  almost  imperiously.  "  It 
is  the  hand  of  a  brave  man  and  good." 

Her  tone  was  one  of  warm  and  genuine  admiration. 


378  THE   FOREIGNER 

All  Kalman's  practised  self-control  deserted  him.  He 
felt  the  hot  blood  rising  in  liis  face.  With  a  great 
effort  he  regained  command  of  himself  and  began 
pointing  out  the  features  of  interest  in  the  mine. 

"  Great  changes  have  taken  place  in  the  last  five 
years,"  she  said,  looking  down  the  ravine,  disfigured 
by  all  the  sordid  accompaniments  of  a  coal  mine. 

"  Yes,  great  changes,"  said  Kalman. 

"  At  Wakota,  too,  there  are  great  changes,"  she 
said,  walking  a  little  apart  from  the  others.  "  That 
Mr.  Brown  has  done  wonderful  things  for  those 
foreigners." 

"  Yes,"  said  Kalman  proudly,  "  he  has  done  great 
things  for  my  people." 

"  They  are  becoming  good  Canadians,"  replied 
Marjorie,  her  colour  showing  that  she  had  noted  his 
tone  and  meaning. 

"  Yes,  they  will  be  good  Canadians,"  said  Kalman. 
*'  They  are  good  Canadians  now.  They  are  my  best 
men.  None  can  touch  them  in  the  mine,  and  they  are 
good  farmers  too." 

"  I  am  sure  they  are,"  cried  Marj  orie  heartily. 
"  How  wonderful  the  power  of  this  country  of  yours 
to  transform  men!  It  is  a  wonderful  country, 
Canada." 

"  That  it  is,"  cried  Kalman  with  enthusiasm. 
"  No  man  can  tell,  for  no  man  knows  the  magnifi- 
cence of  its  possibilities.  We  have  only  skirted  round 
the  edge  and  scratched  its  surface." 

"  It  is  a  fine  thing,"  said  Marj  orie,  "  to  have  a 
country  to  be  made,  and  it  is  fine  to  be  a  man  and 
have  a  part  in  the  making  of  it." 


MY  FOREIGNER  379 

**  Yes,"  agreed  Kalman,  "  it  is  fine." 

"  I  envy  you,"  cried  Marj  orie  with  enthusiasm. 

A  shadow  fell  en  Kalman's  face.  "  I  don't  know 
that  you  need  to,  after  all." 

Then  she  said  good-by,  leading  him  with  heart 
throbbir  t  and  nerves  tingling  to  his  finger  tips.  Ah, 
how  dear  she  was !  ^Vhat  mad  folly  to  think  he  could 
forget  her !  Every  glance  of  her  eye,  every  tone  in 
her  soft  Scotch  voice,  every  motion  of  hand  and  body, 
how  familiar  they  all  were!  Like  the  faint  elusive 
perfume  from  tlie  clover  fields  of  childhood,  they 
smote  upon  his  senses  with  intoxicating  power. 
Standing  there  tingling  and  trembling,  he  made  one 
firm  resolve.  Never  would  he  see  her  again.  To- 
morrow he  would  make  a  long-planned  trip  to  the 
city.  He  dared  not  wait  another  day.  To-morrow? 
No,  that  was  Sunday.  He  would  spend  one  full 
happy  day  in  that  ravine  seeking  to  recatch  the  emo- 
tions that  had  thrilled  his  boy's  heart  on  that  great 
night  five  years  ago,  and  having  thus  filled  his  heart, 
he  would  take  his  departure  without  seeing  her  again. 

It  was  the  custom  of  the  people  of  the  ranch  to 
spend  Sunday  afternoon  at  the  Mission.  So  without 
a  word  even  to  French,  calling  his  dogs,  Captain  and 
Queen,  Kalman  rode  down  the  trail  that  led  past  the 
lake  and  toward  the  Night  Hawk  ravine.  By  that 
same  trail  he  had  gone  on  that  memorable  afternoon, 
and  though  five  years  had  passed,  the  thoughts,  the 
imaginings  of  that  day,  were  as  freshly  present  with 
him  as  if  it  had  been  but  yesterday.  And  though 
they  were  the  thoughts  and  imaginings  of  a  mere 


380  THE   FOREIGNER 

boy,  yet  to-day  they  seemed  to  him  good  and  worthy 
of  his  manhood. 

Down  the  trail,  well  beaten  now,  through  the  golden 
poplars  he  rode,  his  dogs  behind  him,  till  he  reached 
the  pitch  of  the  ravine.  There,  where  he  had  scram- 
bled down,  a  bridle  path  led  now.  It  was  very  differ- 
ent, and  yet  how  much  remained  unchanged.  There 
was  the  same  glorious  sun  raining  down  his  golden 
beams  upon  the  yellow  poplar  leaves,  the  same  air, 
sweet  and  genial,  in  him  the  same  heart,  and  before 
him  the  same  face,  but  sweeter  it  seemed,  and  eyes 
the  same  that  danced  with  every  sunbeam  and  lured 
him  on.  He  was  living  again  the  rapture  of  his 
boyhood's  first  great  passion. 

At  the  mine's  mouth  he  paused.  Not  a  feature 
remained  of  the  cave  that  he  had  discovered  five  years 
ago,  but  sitting  there  upon  his  horse,  how  readily 
he  reconstructed  the  scene !  Ah,  how  easy  it  was ! 
Every  line  of  that  cave,  the  new  fresh  earth,  the 
gleaming  black  seam,  the  very  stones  in  the  walls, 
he  could  replace.  Carefully,  deliberately,  he  recalled 
the  incidents  of  the  evening  spent  in  the  cave:  the 
very  words  she  spoke;  how  her  lips  moved  as  she 
spoke  them;  how  her  eyes  glanced,  now  straight  at 
him,  now  from  under  the  drooping  lids ;  how  she 
smiled,  how  she  wept,  how  she  laughed  aloud ;  how 
her  face  shone  with  the  firelight  playing  on  it,  and 
the  soul  light  radiating  through  it.  He  revelled  in 
the  memory  of  it  all.  There  was  the  very  spot  where 
Mr.  Penny  had  lain  in  vocal  slumber.  Here  he  had 
stood  with  the  snowstorm  beating  on  his  face.     He 


MY  FOREIGNER  381 

resolved  to  trace  step  by  step  the  path  he  had  taken 
that  night,  and  to  taste  again  the  bliss  of  which  he 
had  drunk  so  deep.  And  all  the  while,  as  he  rode 
down  the  gorge,  underneath  the  rapture  of  remem- 
bering, he  was  conscious  of  an  exquisite  pain.  But 
he  would  go  through  with  it.  He  would  not  allow 
,'the  pain  to  spoil  his  day,  his  last  day  near  her.  Down 
by  the  running  water,  as  on  that  night,  underneath 
and  through  the  crowding  trees,  out  to  where  the 
gorge  widened  into  the  valley,  he  rode.  When  hark! 
He  paused.  Was  that  Queen's  bay.?  Surely  it  was. 
"A  wolf.?"  he  thought.  "No,  there  are  none  left 
in  the  glen."  He  shrank  from  meeting  any  one  that 
afternoon.  He  waited  to  hear  again  that  deep,  soft 
trumpet  note,  and  strained  his  ear  for  voices.  But 
all  was  still  except  for  the  falling  of  a  ripe  leaf  now 
and  then  through  the  trees.  He  hated  to  give  up  the 
afternoon  he  had  planned. 

He  rode  on.  He  reached  the  more  open  timber. 
He  remembered  that  it  was  here  he  had  first  caught 
the  sound  of  voices  behind  that  bhnding  drift. 
Through  the  poplars  he  pressed  his  horse.  It  was 
at  this  very  spot  that,  through  an  opening  in  the 
storm,  he  had  first  caught  sight  —  what !  His  heart 
stood  still,  and  then  leaped  into  his  throat.  There, 
on  the  very  spot  where  he  had  seen  her  that  night, 
she  stood  again  to-day!  Was  it  a  vision  of  his  fond 
imagination.?  He  passed  his  hand  over  his  eyes.  No, 
she  was  there  still!  standing  among  the  golden  popr 
lars,  the  sunlight  falling  all  around  her.  With  all 
his  boyhood's  frenzy  in  his  heart,  he  gazed  at  her  till 


S82  THE    FOREIGNER 

she  turned  and  looked  toward  him.  A  moment  more, 
with  his  spurs  into  his  horse's  side,  he  crashed  through 
the  scrub  and  was  at  her  side. 

"  You !  you !  "  he  cried,  in  the  old  cry.  "  Marjorie ! 
Marjorie!  " 

Once  more  he  had  her  in  his  arms.  Once  more  he 
was  kissing  her  face,  her  eyes,  her  lips.  Once  more 
she  was  crying,  "  Oh,  Kalman !  Stop !  You  must 
stop  !  You  must  stop !  "  And  then,  as  before,  she 
laid  her  head  upon  his  breast,  sobbing,  "  When  I  saw 
the  dogs  I  feared  you  would  come,  but  I  could  not 
run  away.  Oh,  you  must  stop !  Oh,  I  am  so  happy  !  " 
And  then  he  put  her  from  him  and  looked  at  her. 

"  Mar j  orie,''  he  said,  "  tell  me  it  is  no  dream,  that 
it  is  you,  that  you  are  mine !  Yes,"  he  shouted  aloud, 
"  do  you  hear  me  ?  You  are  mine !  Before  Heaven 
I  saj^  it !    No  man,  nothing  shall  take  you  from  me !  " 

"  Hush,  Kalman !  "  she  cried,  coming  to  him  and 
laying  her  hand  upon  his  lips ;  "  they  are  just  down 
by  the  river  there." 

"Who  are  they.?  I  care  not  who  they  are,  now 
that  you  are  mine !  " 

"  And  oh,  how  near  I  was  to  losing  you ! "  she 
cried.  "  You  v/ere  going  away  to-morrow,  and  I 
should  have  broken  my  heart." 

"Ah,  dear  heart!  How  could  I  know.?"  he  said, 
"  How  could  I  know  you  could  ever  love  a  foreigner, 
the  son  of  a  —  " 

"  The  son  of  a  hero,  who  paid  out  his  life  for  a 
great  cause,"  she  cried  with  a  sob.  "  Oh,  Kalma», 
I  have  been  there.  I  have  seen  the  people,  your 
father's  people." 


MY   FOREIGNER  383 

Kalman's  face  was  pale,  his  voice  shaking.  "  You 
have  seen?  You  understand?  You  do  not  shrink 
from  me?  "  He  felt  his  very  soul  trembling  in  the 
balance. 

"  Shrink  from  you !  "  she  cried  ii.  scorn.  "  Were 
I  Russian,  I  should  be  like  your  father !  " 

"  Now  God  be  thanked !  "  cried  Kalman.  "  That 
fear  is  gone.  I  fear  nothing  else.  All,  how  brave  you 
are,  sweetheart !  " 

"  Stop,  Kalman !  Man,  man,  you  are  terrible.  Let 
me  go !     They  are  coming !  " 

*'  Hello  there !  Steady  all."  It  was  Brown's  voice. 
"Now,  then,  what's  this?" 

Awhile  they  stood  side  by  side,  then  Marjorie  came 
sliyly^  to  Sir  Robert. 

"  I  did  n't  m.ean  to,  father,"  she  said  penitently, 
"not  a  bit.  But  I  couldn't  help  myself.  He  just 
made  me." 

Sir  Robert  kissed  her. 

Kalman  stepped  forward.  "  And  I  could  n't  help 
it.  Sir,"  he  said.  "  I  tried  my  best  not  to.  Will  you 
give  her  to  me?  " 

"Listen  to  him,  now,  will  you?  "  said  Sir  Robert, 
shaking  him  warmly  by  the  hand.  "  It  was  n't  the 
fault  of  either  of  them." 

"  Quite  true.  Sir,"  said  French  gravely.  "  I  'm 
afraid  it  was  partly  mine.  I  saw  the  dogs  —  I 
thought  it  would  be  good  for  us  three  to  take  the 
other  trail." 

"  Blame  me,  Sir,"  said  Brown  penitently.  "  It  was 
I  who  helped  to  conquer  her  aversion  to  the  foreigner 


384  THE    FOREIGNER 

by  showing  her  his  many  excellences.  Yes,"  contin- 
ued Brown  in  a  reminiscent  manner,  "  I  seem  to  re- 
call how  a  certain  young  lady  into  these  ears  made 
solemn  declaration  that  never,  never  could  she  love 
one  of  those  foi  signers." 

"Ah,"  said  Marjorie  with  sweet  and  serious 
emphasis,  "  but  not  my  foreigner,  my  Canadian 
foreigner." 


THE  END 


5slSglis=3iSJips " 


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